UC-NRLF 


311 


American  Dramatists  Series 


Jf  lotoer 


Jflarton  Cratg=^enttoortJj 


V1 


THE    FLOWER    SHOP 


THE 
FLOWER  SHOP 

A  Play  in  Three  Acts 

BY 

MARION   CRAIG-WENTWORTH 


BOSTON 

RICHARD  G.  BADGER 

THE  GORHAM  PRESS 
1912 


Copyright,  /p//,  by  Marion  Craig-Wentworth 


All  Dramatic  Rights  Reserved 


The  Gorham  Press,  Boston,  U,  5.  A. 


THE     FLOWER    SHOP 


394002 


CHARACTERS 

MARGARET    KENDALL,    owner    of    "  The    Flower 

Shop,"  known  as  "Margaret  Bell" 
WILLIAM  RAMSEY,  a  business  man 
LOUISE  RAMSEY,  his  wife 
STEPHEN  HARTWELL,  an  attorney 
JOSEPH  TEN  EYCK,  a  theatrical  manager 
HELPERS   IN   THE   FLOWER   SHOP,   Dave,    Polly, 

Lena,  Mary 
CUSTOMERS  OF  THE  FLOWER  SHOP 

Charles  Dunn 

Cornelia  von  Schlegel,  affianced  to  Charles  Dunn 

Mrs.  Summers 

Mrs.  Knight 
FOLLOWERS  OF  MARGARET,  a  group  of  women. 

Time:    The  present. 
Scene:    The  Flower  Shop. 

The  action  occupies  the  afternoon  and  evening  of 
one  day. 


The  Flower   Shop 


ACT  I 

Scene:  A  white  spacious  room  of  a  flower  shop  in 
an  inland  American  city.  It  is  filled  with  a 
profusion  of  growing  green  things;  bay  trees, 
ferns,  box,  high  over-arching  palms  massed  in 
groups;  ivy  plants,  asparagus,  and  delicate, 
feathery  sprays  of  green  hanging  from  the  walls 
and  ceiling,  with  here  and  there  a  plaster  cast 
of  a  Greek  god  looking  through  the  leaves;  gay 
blossoming  shrubs  and  bushes  banked  in  tiers 
on  the  floor, —  azaleas,  white  lilacs,  Easter 
lilies,  red  and  pink  rambler  roses.  Great  jars 
of  cut  flowers  stand  on  the  long  worktable 
against  the  wall  at  the  right. 

Large  doors  at  the  back,  guarded  by  stone  Japanese 
temple  posts,  lead  into  the  salesroom,  where 
may  be  seen  a  bit  of  the  counter,  the  street  door 
and  the  show  window,  another  tangle  of  plants 
and  flowers.  A  carved  stone  bench  brought 
from  some  old  Italian  garden  is  in  the  center 
of  the  stage  under  a  tall  palm,  and  another, 
quite  similar,  stands  near  the  massive  table 
on  the  left  —  a  few  chairs  of  quaint  design 

8 


ACT  i  THE  FLOWER  SHOP  9 

are  conveniently  placed.  Side  doors  to  left 
and  right,  one  leading  to  the  street,  the  other 
to  a  conservatory.  A  window  in  the  wall 
to  the  left  at  the  back. 

Time:    early  afternoon. 

Discovered:  LENA,  POLLY,  and  MARY  working  at 
floral  decorations.  LENA,  a  tall,  thin,  worn- 
looking  girl,  is  making  a  wreath,  while  the 
other  two  are  filling  in  a  wedding  bell.  MARY 
is  slight  and  pale,  with  a  delicate  beauty  of  her 
own.  POLLY  is  plump  and  pretty,  with  a 
merry,  care-free,  childish  face.  She  carries 
on  an  innocent  flirtation  with  DAVE,  a  stalwart, 
curly-headed  young  man  who  is  passing  in 
and  out  of  the  conservatory  with  plants. 

POLLY.  [Humming  a  bit  from  the  Lohengrin 
wedding  march]  Oh,  dear!  I'd  like  to  be  the 
bride! 

MARY.     [Smiling  at  her]  Not  really,  Polly? 

POLLY.  Yes,  I  would!  and  get  married, 
instead  of  having  to  work  for  a  living. 

LENA.  Don't  let  Miss  Margaret  hear  you  talk 
like  that. 

POLLY.     Why  not? 

LENA.     She'd  think  you  were  foolish. 


10  THE  FLOWER  SHOP  ACT  i 

POLLY.  Foolish  to  want  to  be  married?  Why, 
every  girl  wants  that. 

LENA.  Not  Miss  Margaret.  She  doesn't  be 
lieve  in  getting  married. 

POLLY.  I  don't  care  what  she  believes;  she'd 
like  to  be  in  love  just  as  much  as  I  would.  Isn't 
she  a  woman? 

[They  laugh  at  her.] 

LENA.  I  wonder  what  she  would  do  if  she 
were  in  love;  what  would  become  of  her  ideas. 

POLLY.  I  can  tell  you.  They'd  all  go  ke — 
smash !  [Gesture.] 

LENA.     Or  if  she  got  tired  —  good  and  tired. 

MARY.  Would  you  marry  a  man  simply 
because  you  were  tired  of  working,  Lena? 

LENA  stares  at  MARY  as  she  moves  to  the 
table  for  more  flowers  with  evident  intent 
to  cut  her. 

POLLY.     Would  you,  Lena? 

LENA.  [Sharply]  Certainly,  if  he  was  a  good 
man. 

POLLY.  You  don't  care  about  being  in  love? 
Why,  7  think  that  is  the  whole  thing! 

LENA.  That's  because  you  are  so  hopelessly 
young,  Polly.  What  would  it  matter,  if  he  gave 
me  a  good  home? 

MARY.  [Still  hurt  by  LENA'S  stare]  Then  you 
are  no  better  than  I  am,  Lena  Shrieves,  though 


ACT  i  THE  FLOWER  SHOP  11 

you  will  not  speak  to  me.  I  was  more  than  tired 
when  Miss  Margaret  saved  me  from  the  life  I 
was  being  dragged  into.  I  was  hungry  —  hungry 
—  do  you  understand?  You  don't  know  what 
it  means  to  live  on  three  or  four  dollars  a  week 
in  a  miserable  little  room  for  five  years,  and  never 
know  what  it  is  to  have  your  body  warm  in 
winter  or  your  hunger  satisfied. 

LENA.  [With  virtuous  sharpness]  I'd  keep 
respectable! 

MARY.  [Passionately]  You  wouldn't!  You 
couldn't!  You'd  get  more  tired  than  you  are 
now;  you'd  get  so  sick  of  it  all  and  so  desperate 
you'd  take  the  first  offer  you  had  for  just  one 
square  meal  and  some  warm  underwear  to  stop 
the  shivers ! 

[  There  is  the  noise  of  some  one  entering] 
POLLY.     Here  she  is,  girls. 

Enter  MARGARET,  a  beautiful  woman,  of  tall, 
noble    build,    gracious    and    winning    of 
manner.      She    is  followed    by    JOSEPH 
TEN  EYCK.     The  girls  quietly  withdraw. 
MARGARET.     It  is  quite  as  I  say,  Ten  Eyck. 
TEN  EYCK.     Then  it  is  useless  to  speak  of  it 
further. 

MARGARET.  Yes.  My  voice  is  entirely  gone. 
I  faced  the  fact  that  I  should  never  sing  again 
some  time  ago. 


12  THE  FLOWER  SHOP  ACT  i 

TEN  EYCK.  [Sympathetically]  Too  bad  —  too 
bad!  By  the  way,  what  has  become  of  Louise? 
How  you  did  sing  —  both  of  you  that  last  night ! 

MARGARET.  Yes,  we  were  in  high  spirits. 
We  never  dreamed  of  the  swift,  terrible  illness 
so  soon  to  shut  out  the  light  and  leave  the  two 
song  birds  in  the  dark.  I  don't  know  where  she 
is.  Doubtless  it  has  been  with  her  as  with  me.  She 
has  probably  never  recovered  her  voice,  although 
at  the  time  the  doctors  said  there  was  more  hope 
for  her  than  for  me.  They  thought  a  long  rest 
might  do  it. 

TEN  EYCK.     I  suppose  she  is  married? 

MARGARET.     Very  likely. 

TEN  EYCK.  And  you?  How  does  it  happen 
you  have  never  married,  Margaret  —  you,  of  all 
women?  I  should  have  expected 

MARGARET  [Lightly]  Oh  no! 

TEN  EYCK.  You  had  any  number  of  ad 
mirers  to  choose  from.  I  don't  like  to  see  you  doing 
this  —  it  goes  against  the  grain  somehow  —  a 
woman  like  you!  You  needn't,  you  know. 

MARGARET  [Smiling]  I  am  quite  able  to  take 
care  of  myself. 

TEN  EYCK.  Oh,  I  know  —  but  Margaret 
Kendall  in  the  commercial  world  —  running  a 
business  —  no,  no !  the  thing  is  preposterous. 
You  really  ought  to  marry  and  have  a  husband. 


ACT  i  THE  FLOWER  SHOP  13 

MARGARET  [Laughing]  That  is  amusing,  com 
ing  from  you,  Ten  Eyck.  How  you  used  to  rail 
against  husbands.  Didn't  you  always  say  they 
were  a  bother? 

TEN  EYCK.  For  a  star,  yes;  or  a  woman  with 
a  career  —  you  can't  expect  a  man  to  marry  his 
wife's  career.  An  artist  hasn't  any  business  to 
have  a  husband. 

MARGARET.     There  you  go ! 

TEN  EYCK.  But  it  is  different  with  you  now, 
Margaret  —  in  your  present  circumstances.  I 
remember  I  did  make  rather  a  fuss  about  your 
marrying  William  Ramsey  —  I  was  afraid  you 
would  take  him,  and  if  you  had  it  would  have 
been  all  up  with  you  as  a  singer.  He  had  his 
ideas  on  the  subject. 

MARGARET.  Yes,  that  is  what  made  the  trouble 
between  us. 

TEN  EYCK.  Still,  if  you  had  taken  him  you 
wouldn't  have  been  in  this  state 

MARGARET  [Amused]  What  state? 

TEN  EYCK.  Working  for  your  living,  like  any 
ordinary  woman. 

MARGARET.  [With  amused  reminiscence]  I 
wouldn't  have  married  William  Ramsey  for  the 
world  —  not  after  I  found  him  out.  A  splendid 
man  —  oh,  yes  —  but  it  came  to  be  "when 
Greek  meets  Greek"  with  us.  We  never  met 


14  THE  FLOWER  SHOP  ACT  i 

without  the  flash  and  smoke  of  battle.  So  we 
ended  it.  It  was  a  lucky  thing  the  fatal  words 
were  not  spoken  over  William  Ramsey  and  me, 
or  —  something  would  certainly  have  happened. 
As  for  working  for  my  living,  I  am  very  proud 
of  that,  you  know.  It  is  a  beautiful  work,  too. 
I  love  the  flowers.  Best  of  all,  I  am  free.  So 
don't  worry  about  me,  Ten  Eyck,  and  my  not 
having  a  husband.  [Lightly]  What  should  I 
want  of  one? 

TEN  EYCK.  It's  not  reasonable,  Margaret. 
I  can't  believe  that  a  woman  like  you  must  go 
through  life  without  some  one  to  love  her  and 
look  out  for  her.  [Looking  at  her  keenly.] 

MARGARET.  [Trying  to  hide  a  pain  in  her  voice] 
Not  now  —  not  for  me  —  neither  love  nor  music. 

TEN  EYCK.  [Sympathetically]  Well,  that's  your 
secret.  Anyway,  you  are  a  brave  girl,  Margaret. 
[Shaking  hands]  I  must  go.  I  must  find  some  one  to 
take  the  place  of  our  star.  She  can't  hold  out.  You 
won't  let  me  hear  —  let  me  judge  of  your  voice? 

MARGARET.  [Shaking  her  head  sadly]  I  can't 
sing  a  note. 

TEN  EYCK.  Come  and  see  us  to-night.  I  will 
leave  seats  for  you.  Good-bye.  [Turns]  I  can't 
help  thinking,  though,  you  would  be  happier  with 
a  husband.  Yes,  even  William  Ramsey  would 
be  better  than  none  at  all! 


ACT  i  THE  FLOWER  SHOP  15 

[He  goes  out  to  MARGARET'S  laughing  pro 
test.     She  turns  to  arrange  some  flowers,] 

POLLY.  [Announcing]  A  gentleman  to  see  you, 
Miss  Margaret.  A  stranger.  Mr.  Ramsey. 

Enter  WILLIAM   RAMSEY,   a  man  of  bold 
but     attractive     strength,     rather    heavily 
built,  with  high  Saxon  coloring  and  a  blue 
choleric  eye.     Magnetic,  conscious  of  his 
power,  but  not  disagreeably  so. 
MARGARET.     [Astonished,   lets  fall  to  the  table 
the  flowers  in  her  hands  and  turns  to  face  him} 
William!     You! 

RAMSEY.  Well,  haven't  you  a  word  for  me 
after  all  these  years? 

MARGARET.  Why,  yes  —  you  surprised  me  — 
won't  you  sit  down?  I  spoke  your  name  but  a 
moment  ago. 

RAMSEY.     Ah,  I  am  pleased  I  am  not  forgotten. 
MARGARET.     How  did  you  find  me  out? 
RAMSEY.     We  are  on  our  way  to  New  York. 
My  wife  told  me  you  were  here  —  under  an  as 
sumed  name  —  so  I  couldn't  resist  coming  to  see 
you.     I  hope  you  don't  mind. 

MARGARET.     Your  wife,  you  say.     Then  you 
are  married. 
RAMSEY.     Yes. 

MARGARET.  [With  gentle  amusement}  She  is 
sufficiently  docile,  I  suppose. 


16  THE  FLOWER  SHOP  ACT  i 

RAMSEY.     [Bristling]  She  is  my  ideal  of  a  wife. 

MARGARET.  Perfectly  domestic  and  of  course 
no  yearnings  for  a  public  career. 

RAMSEY.  I  should  quickly  nip  them  in  the 
bud  if  she  had.  Thank  goodness,  I  have  nothing 
of  that  kind  to  disturb  my  happiness.  She  is  a 
true  woman. 

MARGARET.     Not  a  singer,  I  assume. 

RAMSEY.  No,  indeed.  That  is,  not  now. 
She  was  once. 

MARGARET.  Ah!  You  made  her  give  up  her 
voice  for  you? 

RAMSEY.  No,  I  met  her  after  she  had  lost  it. 
By  the  way,  she  says  you  were  in  the  same  epi 
demic  —  you  must  have  sung  together. 

MARGARET.     Not  Louise  Van  Anden? 

RAMSEY.     Yes. 

MARGARET.  Really!  [Pauses]  Then  her  voice 
never  came  back. 

RAMSEY.  No.  She  has  said  nothing  about 
it  for  some  time,  so  I  think  she  has  quite  for 
gotten. 

MARGARET.  Forgotten!  Where  is  she?  Isn't 
she  coming  to  see  me? 

RAMSEY.  Yes,  later.  I  slipped  away,  for  I 
wanted  to  see  you  alone.  I  wanted  to  see  how 
you  were  getting  on  —  if  you  had  changed  since 
the  old  days  —  what  you  were  doing  and  thinking. 


ACT  i  THE  FLOWER  SHOP  17 

MARGARET.  So  you  married  Louise,  my  old 
singing  mate!  Well,  well!  I  suppose  if  she  had 
kept  her  voice  it  would  have  meant  no  more  to 
you  than  mine  did. 

RAMSEY.  Your  voice  meant  everything  to  me, 
Margaret.  It  was  you.  It  was  the  magic  that 
first  drew  me  to  you. 

MARGARET.     Yet  you  would  have  murdered  it. 

RAMSEY.     How  do  you  mean? 

MARGARET.  You  demanded  I  give  it  up  on 
the  day  of  our  marriage. 

RAMSEY.  Of  course.  You  know  how  strongly 
I  felt  on  that  point.  I  didn't  want  you  to  appear 
in  public  —  to  make  the  treasure  common.  How 
would  it  have  looked?  You  could  have  gone  on 
singing. 

MARGARET.  For  you,  alone?  In  the  chimney 
corner?  With  my  voice? 

RAMSEY.  For  friends,  for  charity, —  in  a  pri 
vate  way.  That  seems  far  more  beautiful  to  me. 
If  you  had  loved  me  you  would  have  done  it. 

MARGARET.  [Shakes  her  head]  If  you  had  loved 
me  you  would  have  been  glad  and  proud 

RAMSEY.  To  have  you  sing  in  public?  As  a 
professional  star?  Never,  not  as  my  wife.  Of 
course,  if  you  hadn't  insisted  on  marriage  we  might 
have  had  our  love  in  secret, —  you  could  have 
kept  on  in  your  career;  but  you  would  have 


18  THE  FLOWER  SHOP  ACT  i 

marriage,  so  very  naturally  I  demanded  you 
retire  from  the  public  gaze. 

MARGARET.  And  then  the  battle  was  on! 
A  royal  one,  too, —  wasn't  it,  William? 

RAMSEY.  Yes,  I  admit  we  were  pretty  evenly 
matched. 

MARGARET.     You  didn't  conquer  me. 

RAMSEY.     No,  nor  you  me. 

MARGARET.  Yet  that  struggle  was  the  lesson 
of  my  life. 

RAMSEY.     What  do  you  mean? 

MARGARET.  I  wanted  to  be  both  the  artist 
and  the  wife. 

RAMSEY.  Well,  you  saw  that  was  impossible  — 
I  taught  you  that. 

MARGARET.  You  taught  me  the  value  of 
freedom. 

RAMSEY.  [Irritably]  What  do  you  mean?  — 
freedom ! 

MARGARET.  To  be  one's  self  —  to  grow  each 
in  his  own  way,  the  woman  as  well  as  the  man.  If 
marriage  can't  do  that 

RAMSEY.     Well? 

MARGARET.  Remain  alone.  For  me,  there 
can  be  no  real  or  lasting  happiness  without  free 
dom  —  of  that  I  am  sure. 

RAMSEY.  [Looks  about  the  flower  shop  con 
temptuously]  Is  this  what  you  call  freedom?  or 


ACT  i  THE  FLOWER  SHOP  19 

happiness?  Humph!  If  you  had  married  me 
you  might  not  have  been  happy,  but  at  least  you 
would  not  have  come  to  this  —  to  be  forced  to 
support  yourself  and  battle  with  the  business 
world.  I  could  have  protected  you  from 
that. 

MARGARET.  I  think  better  of  marriage  than 
that  it  is  merely  an  escape  from  the  responsibility 
of  taking  care  of  one's  self.  I  want  to  earn  my  own 
way  in  the  world.  I  mean  always  to  do  it, 
whether  I  marry  or  not.  [Leaning  across  the 
table  and  speaking  in  a  low,  earnest  voice]  My 
flower  shop  takes  the  place  of  my  voice.  I 
couldn't  begin  to  tell  you  all  that  it  means  to  me. 
Years  ago  you  roused  the  rebel  in  me.  It  was  for 
myself  alone.  Now  I  am  a  rebel  for  other 
women  too.  If  I  failed  with  my  voice  I  shall 
not  fail  with  my  flower  shop. 

RAMSEY.     What  do  you  mean? 

MARGARET.  It  is  the  symbol  of  a  new  freedom 
for  woman. 

RAMSEY.  You  don't  mean  votes  —  you  haven't 
gone  off  on  that  craze? 

MARGARET.  A  greater  freedom  than  that, — 
economic  freedom. 

POLLY.  [Announcing]  There  are  some  custo 
mers  here,  Miss  Margaret. 

MARGARET.     I  will  see  them. 


20  THE  FLOWER  SHOP  ACT  i 

RAMSEY.     Must  I  go? 

MARGARET.  [Indicating  a  stone  bench  screened 
by  plants]  No,  sit  here.  You  said  you  wanted  to 
know  what  I  am  thinking  and  doing  —  you  shall 
see.  It  is  one  of  my  women,  doubtless.  [Confi 
dentially]  Since  I  have  been  in  this  work  I  have  been 
allowed  to  look  intimately  into  the  lives  of  scores 
of  women*  Sometimes  I  think  my  flower  shop 
is  a  temple  —  this  room  a  confessional,  and  I  the 
priestess  —  so  many  hearts  have  been  opened 
to  me  here.  They  seem  like  a  lot  of  frightened 
slaves  —  the  women  —  and  the  husbands  masters 
and  owners  by  right  of  the  household  purse, — 
if  only  that  could  be  abolished ! 

Enter    airily    MRS.    SUMMERS,    a    pretty, 
fashionable  little  woman. 

MARGARET.  [Advancing  to  her]  Ah,  Mrs. 
Summers. 

MRS.  SUMMERS.  Oh,  Miss  Bell,  I  am  in  a  bit 
of  a  hurry  —  may  I  speak  with  you  a  moment? 
I  have  a  piece  of  good  news.  I  may  get  my 
conservatory  after  all!  [Speaks  in  a  low  voice] 
I  am  working  hard  —  I  have  him  almost  twisted 
round  my  finger  —  one  more  little  twist  —  then 
the  check  —  victory  —  my  conservatory  at  last ! 

MARGARET.     How  have  you  managed  him? 

MRS.  SUMMERS.  [With  gay  irresponsibility] 
I  waited  each  time  before  speaking  until  he  was 


ACT  i  THE  FLOWER  SHOP  21 

pleased  and  good  natured  over  something  — 
sometimes  it  was  a  special  dinner  —  then  I  would 
sit  on  the  arm  of  his  chair,  and  pet  him  a  little, 
and  casually  drop  a  hint  or  two  to  get  him  used 
to  the  idea,  you  know,  until  now  he  is  quite  in 
terested  —  really.  Oh,  one  more  dinner  will  do 
it  I  am  sure  —  [with  a  quick  change,  loyally]  oh, 
you  mustn't  think  Mr.  Summers  isn't  perfectly 
generous,  he  is  —  he's  a  love  —  but  of  course 
I  have  to  be  careful  and  not  ask  at  the  wrong  time 
—  that  would  never  do  —  when  he's  in  an  ill 
humor  or  when  his  dyspepsia's  bad. 

MARGARET.     Do  you  have  to  wait  long? 

MRS.  SUMMERS.  [Lightly]  Oh,  sometimes  it  has 
been  a  whole  week,  and  I  have  been  so  em 
barrassed  —  oh  frightfully  —  but  he  always  makes 
up  for  it,  he  is  really  so  generous.  Of  course  he 
does  scold  me  once  in  a  while  —  says  he  slaves 
for  his  money.  So  he  does,  poor  dear  —  he  is 
getting  awfully  bald  —  he  calls  me  frivolous  — 
says  I  spend  in  a  day  what  it  takes  him  weeks 
to  earn.  Still,  what  can  I  do,  with  our  position 
to  maintain? 

MARGARET.  You  see,  if  you  earned  your  own 
money,  Mrs.  Summers,  and  struggled  and  worried 
as  your  husband  has  to,  you  would  realize  his 
point  of  view.  You  should  work  for  your  living 
as  I  do. 


22  THE  FLOWER  SHOP  ACT  i 

MRS.  SUMMERS.     [Shocked]  But  I  am  married! 

MARGARET.  That  makes  no  difference  —  you 
are  a  human  being.  He  couldn't  call  you  frivolous 
then,  nor  scold  —  nor  have  to  be  wheedled. 

MRS.  SUMMERS.  Oh,  well  —  he  likes  it.  Be 
sides,  I  don't  know  what  being  married  would  be 
like  without  our  little  scenes.  It  is  really  great 
fun  to  see  how  much  of  a  manager  one  can  be. 
Next  time  I  come  I  shall  surely  order  the  con 
servatory.  Good-bye.  Oh,  you  take  things  too 
seriously,  Miss  Margaret.  The  men  like  us  all 
the  better  for  it.  Don't  you  know  that?  Really ! 

[Exit.] 

RAMSEY.  [Who  has  been  observing  though  pre 
tending  to  read  a  magazine}  Hasn't  that  woman 
freedom? 

MARGARET.  License  —  not  freedom.  She  is 
one  of  the  dependent  spendthrifts.  Honest  work, 
that  is  what  she  needs.  Why,  there  isn't  a  married 
woman  with  any  pride  or  self-respect  who  doesn't 
envy  me  the  independence  of  my  flower  shop  — 
not  one  who  doesn't  long  to  have  a  work  and 
income  of  her  own  —  not  one  who  doesn't  feel 
the  humiliation  of  having  to  ask  the  man  she 
loves  for  money,  no  matter  how  generous  he  may 
be.  If  he  has  a  hard  struggle  himself  it  is  all  the 
more  painful  for  her. 

RAMSEY.     [Emphatically}     It  ought  not  to  be. 


ACT  i  THE  FLOWER  SHOP  23 

MARGARET.     But  it  is! 

RAMSEY.  [Positively]  The  woman  ought  to  be 
supported  by  the  man.  It  is  a  law  of  nature. 
Do  you  mean  to  say  you  would  not  give  up  this 
flower  shop  for  the  man  you  love  —  if  he  asked  it? 

MARGARET.  [Shaking  her  head]  I  couldn't 
be  dependent  upon  any  one  —  least  of  all  the 
man  I  might  love. 

RAMSEY.     Absurd ! 

MARGARET.  It  is  bad  for  a  man,  why  not  a 
woman? 

RAMSEY.     Nonsense !    Ridiculous ! 

MARGARET.  [Serenely]  I  shall  always  be  my 
own  mistress  because  I  have  my  own  work,  my 
own  pocket-book.  I  can  come  and  go  as  I  like  — 
play  or  sing  (if  I  had  the  voice)  in  public  without 
asking  leave  of  my  lord  or  running  the  risk  of 
offending  his  masculine  pride.  I  am  an  individual. 
I  am  free.  I  have  my  flower  shop.  So  I  say  to 
the  women  who  sometimes  weep  on  my  shoulder, 
"Follow  my  example.  Go  get  one  of  your  own." 

RAMSEY.     You  have  followers  then? 

MARGARET.  Yes, —  thirty.  [With  sudden  eager 
impetuosity]  Don't  you  see,  William?  It  isn't 
only  because  I  want  women  to  be  free.  I  want 
them  to  grow,  to  be  larger,  nobler,  more  beauti 
ful  —  I  want  them  to  care  for  other  children  as 
well  as  their  own  —  for  the  common  life,  for 


24  THE  FLOWER  SHOP  ACT  i 

justice,  for  big  ideas.  That  is  it,  William.  I 
want  them  to  care,  and  they  can't  until  they  take 
part  in  the  life  outside  their  four  walls.  They've 
been  amateurs  so  long 

POLLY.  [Announcing]  Mrs.  Knight,  Miss 
Margaret. 

Enter  MRS.  KNIGHT,  a  crushed  and  fright 
ened  looking  woman,  who  would  like  to  be 
"perky"  but  doesn't  quite  dare.  She  is 
dressed  in  deep  mourning. 

MARGARET.  Ah,  Mrs.  Knight, —  what  can 
I  do  for  you? 

MRS.  KNIGHT.  I  have  come  to  pay  my  bills, 
Miss  Bell.  The  funeral  was  lovely.  Mr.  Knight 
would  have  been  pleased  if  he  could  have  sat  up 
in  his  coffin  and  seen  all  those  flowers!  [With  a 
large  satisfied  sigh]  My,  what  a  fine  showing  they 
made !  ahem !  I  mean  he  would  have  been  pleased 
if  he  hadn't  known  what  they  cost.  [Stage  whisper] 
My,  what  a  scolding  I've  escaped.  You  see,  poor 
old  Hezekiah  —  he  couldn't  bear  to  spend  his 
money;  that  is,  I  mean  he  couldn't  bear  to  have  me 
spend  it,  though  he  was  a  good  provider  —  spe 
cially  a  good  table  provider.  I  must  say  that  for 
him.  He  was  fond  of  good  eating,  Hezekiah  was, 
and  he  had  plenty  of  money.  There,  my  dear  — 
[she  counts  out  some  bills  and  fingers  them  lovingly} 
I  hate  to  give  them  up.  It  feels  so  good  to  handle 


ACT  i  THE  FLOWER  SHOP  25 

a  little  money  after  all  these  years.  You  don't 
know  what  that  means,  Miss  Bell.  I  have  often 
envied  you.  You  can  spend  your  own  money. 

MARGARET.  And  earn  it,  too, —  which  is 
better  still,  Mrs.  Knight. 

MRS.  KNIGHT.  But  think  of  me,  my  dear. 
Hezekiah  never  let  me  spend  a  cent  myself  — 
why,  it  seemed  as  if  he  couldn't  bear  to  —  even 
five  cents  for  a  spool  of  thread.  He  always 
wanted  to  put  it  down  on  the  counter  himself. 
It  was  so  mortifying  sometimes,  Miss  Bell. 
[Sheds  a  few  tears]  Why,  I've  been  no  better  than 
a  slave.  [Awed  warning]  Don't  ever  marry,  Miss 
Bell.  Don't  ever  give  up  your  own  money. 
My!  how  good  it  feels  to  have  a  pocketbook  of 
one's  own.  I  feel  like  a  free  woman.  [Chuckling 
timidly]  He  has  only  been  dead  a  month  and  I 
have  spent  in  that  time  [whispers  in  MARGARET'S 
ear] — there!  [Gets  quite  chipper  and  gay]  I  don't 
dare  say  it  out  loud  or  Hezekiah  would  rise  in  his 
grave.  [She  starts  to  go  out  then  comes  back, 
catching  herself  cautiously  looking  around  as  if  to 
see  if  her  husband's  ghost  were  ready  to  reprimand 
her  for  her  extravagance  and  what  she  is  about  to  do] 
I  think  I'll  have  more  flowers.  Aren't  they  for 
the  living  as  well  as  the  dead?  I  never  could  buy 
any  when  Hezekiah  was  alive  because  he  wouldn't 
spend  the  money,  but  now  —  now  —  what's  to 


26  THE  FLOWER  SHOP  ACT  i 

hinder?     I  have  always  loved  flowers  —  I'll  take 
that  whole  bunch  of  roses. 

POLLY.  There  are  three  dozen  here,  Mrs. 
Knight. 

[POLLY  puts  them  in  a  box.] 

MRS.  KNIGHT.  I  don't  care.  Send  them  up. 
The  whole  three  dozen!  I  think  I'll  have  flowers 
every  day  in  the  year.  Why  shouldn't  I?  Who's 
to  stop  me?  [Looks  fearfully  over  her  shoulder 
again]  I  will  spend  one  hundred  dollars  a  month, 
Miss  Bell  —  cut  flowers  every  day  —  yes,  one 
hundred  dollars  a  month  —  that  is  an  order. 
Write  it  down  quick.  I'll  come  and  pay  you 
myself  every  month  —  in  cash  —  the  dear  dollars 
—  I  love  to  feel  them  and  they  are  mine  too  — 
mine  —  there's  a  beginning.  [Puts  bills  on  the 
table]  Ho,  ho,  Hezekiah!  Flowers  every  day! 
One  hundred  dollars  a  month!  Now  I'll  get 
even,  Hezekiah  —  I'll  get  even! 

Chuckling  to  herself  MRS.  KNIGHT  goes  out. 

MARGARET.  The  pity  is,  there  are  more  Mrs. 
Knights  in  the  world  than  one  dreams  of  —  and 
not  all  in  mourning,  either. 

POLLY.  [Catching  sight  of  DAVE  in  the  con 
servatory]  All  men  are  not  like  Hezekiah  Knight. 

MARGARET.     Why  no,  dear,  of  course  not. 

POLLY.     Some  are  generous  and  kind. 

MARGARET.     Certainly,  child.     It  is  the  sys- 


ACT  i  THE  FLOWER  SHOP  27 

tern  that  is  wrong.     I  have  nothing  against  men. 
RAMSEY.     God  knows  they  have  a  hard  enough 
struggle. 

MARGARET.  I  know  the  same  struggle  —  the 
wear  and  tear  —  the  anxiety. 

POLLY.  Then  I  don't  see  why  you  talk  as  you 
do. 

MARGARET.  Don't  you  see  —  I  would  rather 
face  it  myself  than  ask  a  man  to  do  it  for  me. 

POLLY.  It  is  a  man's  place.  I  wouldn't 
marry  a  man  if  he  wasn't  glad  to  take  care  of  me  — 
excuse  me,  Miss  Margaret.  I  am  forgetting 
myself.  [Runs  of.] 

RAMSEY.  You  have  not  made  much  im 
pression  upon  your  own  girls,  I  must  say.  [  Throw 
ing  magazine  upon  table]  The  child  is  right.  You 
lead  a  lorn  hope.  Ha,  ha !  [Laughs  at  her] 

POLLY.  [Announcing  at  the  door]  Oh,  Miss 
Margaret,  the  bride's  coming.  And  the  bride 
groom,  too.  She  wants  to  see  her  wedding  bell  I 
know. 

Enter  CORNELIA  VON  SCHLEGEL  and  MR. 
CHARLES  DUNN.  She  is  an  exquisite 
creature,  picturesque  but  capable.  He  is 
a  man  of  the  world,  faultlessly  attired. 
He  lingers  in  the  outer  shop  to  buy  violets 
for  CORNELIA  and  a  boutoniere  for 
himself. 


28  THE  FLOWER  SHOP  ACT  i 

CORNELIA.     How  are  you,  Margaret? 

[They  greet  one  another.] 

MARGARET.     I    have    your    orange    blossoms. 

[Producing  a  box.] 

CORNELIA.  [Glancing  at  them  and  half  caressing 
the  wedding  bell]  They  are  lovely.  I  am  so  happy 
and  yet  —  I  am  troubled  about  something. 
Tell  me,  Margaret,  would  you  really  keep  your 
flower  shop  —  if  you  were  married? 

MARGARET.     Yes.     Why  should  I  give  it  up? 

CORNELIA.  [Hesitating  —  in  a  low  voice,  draw 
ing  her  to  one  side,  out  of  the  hearing  of  RAMSEY] 
But  if  —  if  —  Stephen  Hart  well  should  ask  it? 

MARGARET.  [With  a  catch  in  her  voice]  Stephen 
Hartwell!  Don't  speak  of  him. 

CORNELIA.  But  supposing  he  should  come  — 
and  should  ask  you  —  to  give  it  up  —  what  then? 

MARGARET.  You  mustn't  suppose  what  is 
perfectly  impossible,  Cornelia. 

CORNELIA.  You  love  him.  He  will  hear  the 
call  of  it  and  come  some  day,  and  then  what? 

MARGARET.     You  forget  —  he  doesn't  love  me. 

CORNELIA.  You  never  gave  him  a  chance  to 
tell  you. 

MARGARET.  I  wrote  him.  He  did  not 
answer. 

CORNELIA.     The  letter  may  have  been  lost. 

MARGARET.     It  is  not  likely.     But  why  do  you 


ACT  i  THE  FLOWER  SHOP  29 

ask  me  this?  I  have  my  work.  I  believe  in  it. 
I  couldn't  give  it  up. 

CORNELIA.  I  wanted  you  to  see  how  hard  it  is 
for  me 

MARGARET.  [Surprised  into  a  louder  tone]  Cor 
nelia,  you  are  not  going  to  give  up  your 
studio? 

CORNELIA.     Yes,  I  have  to. 

MARGARET.  I  am  sorry.  Will  you  be  happy 
without  your  work? 

CORNELIA.  No,  but  Charles  feels  so  strongly 
about  it.  He  says  he  is  not  interested  in  miniature 
painting.  I  think  he  is  even  now  a  little  jealous 
of  my  work.  He  wants  me  all  to  himself.  He 
loves  me  so  much,  I  feel  as  if  I  must  do  as  he 
wishes,  don't  you  think  I  ought? 

MARGARET.  No.  You  shouldn't  give  up 
your  work. 

CHARLES.     [Drawing  near]  What's  this? 

CORNELIA.  Miss  Bell  thinks  I  ought  not  to 
give  up  my  studio. 

CHARLES.  [Uncomprehending]  What?  Oh, 
how  absurd!  Come,  my  dear.  The  car  is 
waiting.  [Hands  her  the  violets.] 

CORNELIA.  Oh,  thank  you.  [He  goes.  She 
follows  to  the  door  and  then  comes  hastily  back] 
You  see  he  is  most  thoughtful,  Margaret.  I  can't 
bear  to  oppose  him  now.  I  know  you  are  right, 


30  THE  FLOWER  SHOP  ACT  i 

dear;  but  after  a  while  I  am  sure  he  will  see  it  our 
way  and  let  me  have  my  studio. 

MARGARET.  [Half  smiling]  Never  again !  You 
are  lost  —  hopelessly  lost. 

CORNELIA  and  CHARLES  go  out. 

RAMSEY.  So  this  is  Margaret!  I  might  have 
known  it.  [He  goes  up  to  her,  his  manner  very 
masterful]  I  will  tell  you  what  is  the  matter  with 
you.  You  need  to  be  in  love  —  thoroughly ,madly, 
desperately  in  love. 

MARGARET.     Why? 

RAMSEY.  Then  you  would  see  the  utter  fu 
tility  —  and  nonsense  of  all  these  notions  of 
yours. 

MARGARET.  Notions !  They  are  the  actuating 
principles  of  my  life. 

RAMSEY.  Nonsense,  I  say.  There  is  only  one 
actuating  principle  of  a  woman's  life.  The  need 
to  love  and  be  loved. 

MARGARET.     Yes,  under  right  conditions. 

RAMSEY.  Conditions!  Ha,  ha!  Don't  you 
know  a  woman  who  loves  —  with  a  love  that  is 
at  all  worthy  of  the  name  —  never  makes  con 
ditions?  No,  I  tell  you  it  is  all  false,  this  talk  of 
freedom.  Wait  till  you  find  yourself  in  the  grip 
of  the  mighty  forces  of  nature;  wait  till  a  live 
passion  takes  hold  of  your  heart;  your  ideas  will 
vanish  like  smoke. 


ACT  i  THE  FLOWER  SHOP  31 

MARGARET.     I  am  not  so  weak  as  you  think. 

RAMSEY.  Weak?  You  strong  women  are 
weaker  than  the  weakest  when  you  love. 

MARGARET.     Indeed  we  are  not. 

RAMSEY.  You  are.  Shall  I  tell  you  why? 
Because  of  your  very  strength  —  you  have  more 
love  to  give.  You  were  unyielding  in  your 
opposition  to  me  years  ago  because  you  really 
did  not  love  me. 

MARGARET.     I  thought  I  did  at  the  time. 

RAMSEY.  But  you  didn't.  That  is  a  proof  of 
it.  You  will  give  all  —  a  rich  all  and  without 
question  —  to  the  man  you  love. 

MARGARET.     I  shall  never  yield  a  principle. 

RAMSEY.     You  will,  I  say. 

MARGARET.     Why  do  you  think  that? 

RAMSEY.  [Masterfully]  You  are  a  woman,  like 
the  rest.  I  know  women.  Once  we  get  our 
hands  on  your  hearts  we  can  mould  you  to  our 
will.  We  can  do  what  we  please  with  you  — 
we  are  your  masters  —  eternally  your  masters. 
That's  another  law  of  nature.  It  has  nothing  to 
do  with  the  pocketbook,  either.  [Looks  her  square 
in  the  eye.]  Do  you  mean  to  say  you  don't  know 
I  am  right? 

MARGARET  is  silent. 

RAMSEY.     Answer  me. 

MARGARET  turns  away. 


32  THE  FLOWER  SHOP  ACT  i 

RAMSEY.  Your  silence  means  but  one  thing. 
You  do  know  and  through  your  own  personal 
experience.  Then  you  have  cared  for  some  one 
since  we  separated  —  still  silent !  By  Jove,  there's 
nothing  I'd  like  better  than  to  see  you  head  over 
heels  in  love  like  any  other  woman. 

MARGARET.  [Her  voice  belying  her  words] 
There  is  no  probability  that  you  will  ever  see 
that  day. 

RAMSEY.     Hm.     [Eying  her  closely]  I  wonder 
what  sort  of  a  man  would   do  it.     [Teasingly] 
Some  weakling,  probably.     Some  one  you  could 
make  "a  man"  of  —  as  they  say, —  eh? 

[Smiling  at  her.] 

MARGARET.  [Catching  his  humor]  I  prefer  a 
man  already  made  —  and  made  by  himself 

RAMSEY.     Not  one  who  leans  on  you,  eh? 

MARGARET.     No. 

RAMSEY.  [Sarcastically]  That  is  good!  You 
want  a  strong  man! 

MARGARET.     Of  course. 

RAMSEY.  [Smiling]  One  that  will  beat  the  life 
out  of  you,  eh? 

MARGARET.  [With  an  amused  flash]  If  I  had 
wanted  that  kind  of  strength  I  should  never 
have  dismissed  you,  William.  [Pauses]  There 
is  a  strength  which  is  gentle. 

RAMSEY.     Hm.     The  Stephen  Hartwell  kind, 


ACT  i  THE  FLOWER  SHOP  33 

I  suppose.  [MARGARET  starts  perceptibly,  RAM 
SEY  notices  it]  Ha  —  what?  We  are  on  the  scent 
at  last.  I  remember  now.  I  heard  you  had  an 
affair  with  a  rich  man.  He  cared,  they  said,  and 
you  broke  it  off  —  suddenly  disappeared.  So  he  is 
the  one!  Stephen  Hartwell,  our  talented  at 
torney,  likely  to  be  " Judge"  Hartwell  soon,  if 
I  can  silence  his  critics  —  I  am  managing  his 
campaign.  He  is  running  on  our  ticket.  So 
that's  your  "strength  which  is  gentle,"  eh?  Ha! 
It  may  cost  him  his  office.  His  enemies  say  he 
has  too  much  sympathy  for  a  judge  —  too 
philosophic  —  that  he  has  boasted  he  would 
never  send  anybody  to  prison  if  he  could  help  it. 
But  of  course  the  poor  will  stand  by  him.  I  say, 
didn't  you  care  for  him?  [MARGARET  betrays 
considerable  agitation]  No,  you  couldn't  have 
cared  or  —  well,  if  you  do  you  will  have  a  chance 
to  make  it  right.  He  came  down  on  the  same 
train  with  us.  [MARGARET  turns  in  surprise] 
Does  he  know  you  are  here  —  working  under  an 
assumed  name? 

MARGARET.     No,  no. 

RAMSEY.     Then  I  will  tell  him. 

MARGARET.  You  must  not.  [Eagerly,  for 
getting  herself]  He  is  here?  Now? 

RAMSEY.  [Looking  at  her]  God,  you  never 
looked  like  that  for  me  —  I  see  the  end  of  your 


34  THE  FLOWER  SHOP  ACT  i 

flower  shop.  You  a  champion  of  woman?  Ha, 
ha!  Wait  till  I  find  Hartwell.  [Moves  to  door.] 

MARGARET.  [Protesting]  You  will  not  bring 
him  here? 

RAMSEY.     I  certainly  shall. 

MARGARET.     Not  without  my  wish. 

RAMSEY.  [Close  to  her]  Look  here,  you  are 
dying  to  see  him.  You  know  it. 

MARGARET.     [Faintly]  No  —  no. 

RAMSEY.  Then  why  are  you  so  agitated? 
Oh,  you  women  —  you  women!  You  are  as 
transparent  as  —  Look  here !  Do  you  know  why 
I  am  going  to  bring  him  here?  It  is  not  to  make 
you  happy.  I  want  to  see  the  look  on  your  face 
when  you  meet  —  I  want  to  see  you  a  mere, 
helpless,  traditional  woman  in  the  grip  of  the 
forces  of  nature.  I  want  to  see  Margaret  Kendall 
mastered  —  do  you  hear  —  mastered!  I'd  give 
half  my  life  to  conquer  you,  you  proud,  beautiful 
woman!  /  couldn't.  Hartwell  may.  I  want 
to  see.  You  are  a  brainy  woman,  Margaret, 
but  there  are  things  you  need  to  learn 

MARGARET.  [Quivering,  stirred,  proud,  angry, 
in  a  low  voice]  There  are  things  you  need  to  learn, 
William.  Is  there  nothing  in  you  but  the  instinct 
for  mastership?  Do  you  care  nothing  for  the 
value  of  a  woman's  life  for  itself?  I  should  like 
to  see  you  conquered. 


ACT  i  THE  FLOWER  SHOP  35 

RAMSEY.     [Laughing]  Me  conquered?     How? 

MARGARET.  There  is  only  one  way  I  can  think 
of  —  I  would  like  to  see  you  wedded  to  a  woman 
who  would  assert  her  independence. 

RAMSEY.  [Amused  at  her  words  —  then  face 
to  face  with  her]  So  in  love,  you'd  throw  freedom, 
flower  shop  to  the  winds  —  utterly  conquered ! 
down  on  your  knees!  to  the  man  you 
love. 

MARGARET.  [Taunting  him]  Wedded  to  a  wife 
who  would  sing  in  public!  Ah,  if  Louise's  voice 
would  but  return!  How  I  would  help  her! 

RAMSEY.     You  would  do  nothing  of  the  kind. 

MARGARET.  I  would,  I  would.  See,  you  are 
afraid  already. 

RAMSEY.  I  should  not  allow  it, —  but  thank 
God,  there  is  not  the  slightest  chance  of  your 
disturbing  my  domestic  peace.  Her  voice  is 
dead,  and  there  is  nothing  else  she  can  do. 

MARGARET.     Wait  and  see. 

RAMSEY.     [In  a  low  voice,  threateningly]  Don't 
you  dare  to  put  any  of  your  ideas  into  her  head. 
POLLY  knocks  and  opens  door. 

POLLY.     It  is  a  lady, —  on  a  personal  matter. 

MARGARET.     Show  her  in. 

Enter  LOUISE  RAMSEY,  a  breezy,  handsome 
woman,  fine,  erect  carriage. 

MARGARET.     Louise ! 


36  THE  FLOWER  SHOP  ACT  i 

LOUISE.  Margaret!  [They  embrace]  William, 
you  here?  Why  [looks  at  the  flushed  faces  of 
the  two],  have  you  been  quarreling? 

MARGARET.  Your  husband  and  I  are  old 
antagonists.  We  always  become  aware  of  our 
very  good  fighting  qualities  when  we  meet. 

LOUISE.  William,  dear,  I  am  very  anxious  to 
see  Margaret  alone.  It  is  so  long  since  we  met. 
Would  you  mind  —  er 

RAMSEY.  Yes,  yes,  certainly.  I  will  go  and 
call  for  you  later.  Besides,  I  think  Miss  Kendall 
and  I  have  finished  for  a  time.  [With  meaning] 
I  will  bring  Stephen  Hartwell  with  me,  if  I  can 
find  him,  Miss  Kendall.  [MARGARET  flashes  a 
glance  at  him.  He  turns  to  LOUISE.]  They  are 
old  friends,  I  believe. 

MARGARET.  You  had  better  not  be  long,  Mr. 
Ramsey. 

RAMSEY.     Indeed? 

MARGARET.  [Significantly]  The  flower  shop 
may  gain  a  convert. 

RAMSEY.  Not  in  my  case.  I  am  sure  of  my 
grip.  [Exit  RAMSEY.] 

LOUISE.  Heavens!  How  you  must  hate  each 
other!  What  were  you  talking  about? 

MARGARET.  Only  the  love  of  conquest.  Now, 
tell  me  about  yourself.  Let  me  look  at  you. 
How  happy  you  look  —  and  beautiful  still  — 


ACT  i  THE  FLOWER  SHOP  37 

why,   you   are  positively   radiant.     You   always 
were  like  an  April  breeze.     [Kissing  her.] 

LOUISE.  Oh,  my  dear!  I  cannot  keep  the 
secret  any  longer  —  I  have  the  most  wonderful 
news  to  tell  you.  No  one  knows  —  not  even 
William.  The  most  maivellous  thing  has  hap 
pened.  It  is  a  miracle. 

MARGARET.     Tell  me. 

[They    sit.] 

LOUISE.  You  could  never  guess!  Oh,  Mar 
garet,  Margaret!  My  voice  has  come  back! 

MARGARET.  [Rising  and  grasping  her  by  the 
wrist]  No! 

MARGARET  looks  at  the  door  through  which 
RAMSEY  has  just  passed. 

LOUISE.  Yes  —  it  is  true.  The  same  tones  — 
timber  —  richness.  I  scarcely  dare  breathe  it, 
but  Margaret,  it  is  even  more  glorious. 

MARGARET.     You  have  not  told  William? 

LOUISE.  No,  not  a  word.  [Walking  up  and 
down]  Oh,  if  you  could  know  the  joy  of  it !  Margaret ! 

MARGARET.  [Eagerly]  Have  you  tried  it  in 
public  —  thought  of  joining  a  company? 

LOUISE.  No,  our  town  is  so  isolated,  but  I 
am  praying  for  the  chance.  I  thought  when  I 
reached  New  York  I  might  find  an  old  friend 

MARGARET.  Louise!  your  chance  is  here. 
Who  do  you  think  is  in  town !  Ten  Eyck ! 


38  THE  FLOWER  SHOP  ACT  i 

LOUISE.     Really ! 

MARGARET.  Yes!  His  star  has  failed  him. 
He  wants  some  one  at  once  —  to-morrow ! 

LOUISE.  Oh,  Margaret!  It  was  Providence 
that  sent  me  here. 

MARGARET.  Would  you  do  it?  Would  you 
join  him? 

LOUISE.  [Excited]  Yes,  yes.  I  am  fairly  wild 
at  the  thought. 

MARGARET.  We  will  have  him  here  in  a  few 
moments.  [Goes  to  the  door]  Lena,  will  you  call 
up  the  Opera  House,  please,  and  ask  for  Mr.  Ten 
Eyck.  Tell  him  I  would  like  to  see  him  here 
at  once.  It  is  very  important. 

LOUISE.  Oh,  thank  you!  Margaret  dear 
[walks  about  the  room],  I  can  scarcely  contain 
myself  when  I  think  of  it.  I  am  on  the  tiptoe 
of  joy!  To  hold  an  audience  in  my  grasp  once 
more  —  to  feel  that  multitude  of  hearts  thrill  and 
tremble  at  my  will  —  the  tones  pouring  from  my 
throat,  bearing  me  up,  up  to  the  very  gates  of 
heaven,  then  the  intoxicating  burst  of  applause 
at  the  end  sustaining  me  there  —  oh !  [with 
ecstatic  outburst]  God  is  so  good  to  me ! 

MARGARET.  [Moved  by  LOUISE'S  ardor]  To 
hear  your  enthusiasm  I  almost  fancy  my  voice 
must  return  too.  I  have  a  thrill  I  haven't  felt 
for  years.  Tell  me  how  it  all  happened. 


ACT  i  THE  FLOWER  SHOP  39 

LOUISE.     It  was  after  the  birth  of  my  child. 

LENA.  [Appears  at  the  door]  Mr.  Ten  Eyck 
will  be  here  in  a  few  moments. 

MARGARET.  [Eagerly]  Very  well.  Go  on, 
Louise. 

LOUISE.  It  was  completely  gone  after  that 
illness,  just  as  yours  was. 

MARGARET.     What  did  you  do? 

LOUISE.  I  stayed  at  home;  utterly  miserable 
and  inconsolable.  I  know  you  were  pluckier 
than  I  was;  oh,  yes,  I  heard  of  what  courage  you 
had,  how  you  took  your  mother's  name  and  began 
to  raise  violets  for  a  living. 

MARGARET.  The  violets  helped  me  to  forget  — 
amused  me  until  I  saw  that  a  life  passion  might 
be  worked  out  even  through  violets. 

LOUISE.  But  /  —  I  was  prostrated.  Every 
night  I  prayed  for  my  voice.  Every  morning  I 
sprang  out  of  bed  trembling  with  hope  —  per 
haps  my  prayer  had  been  answered  while  I 
slept  —  but  when  I  opened  my  mouth  to  sing 
there  was  that  impossible  veil  over  my  throat. 
It  was  awful.  I  thought  I  should  die. 

MARGARET.     And  then? 

LOUISE.  [Naively]  Well,  then  I  married. 
There  seemed  to  be  nothing  else  to  do.  William 
has  been  a  good  husband;  I  love  him,  and  he 
loves  me.  I  have  wanted  for  nothing.  Life 


40  THE  FLOWER  SHOP  ACT  i 

has  run  along  smoothly  enough.  I  could  never 
forget  my  voice  —  never.  I  have  had  to  be 
content  to  be  merely  a  wife.  Then  our  little 
Louise  was  born  —  I  forgot  my  sorrow.  [MAR 
GARET  listens  with  quick  sympathy]  One  morning 
she  was  crying.  I  began  to  croon  a  little,  think 
ing  only  of  soothing  her.  At  the  first  note  I 
almost  fainted  with  joy,  for  Margaret,  there  was 
my  voice,  alive  once  more,  loosed  from  the  terrible 
bondage,  greater  than  ever  after  the  long  sleep. 
I  am  transported  with  joy.  Think  of  it!  To 
have  my  husband,  my  baby,  and  now  my  voice, 
my  art,  my  public!  Am  I  not  blessed  above  all 
women ! 

MARGARET.  [Putting  her  hands  on  LOUISE'S 
shoulders  and  looking  her  in  the  face]  My  poor 
Louise ! 

LOUISE.     What  is  it? 

MARGARET.  You  are  married  to  William 
Ramsey.  Have  you  thought  of  that? 

LOUISE.     [Alarmed]  What  do  you  mean? 

MARGARET.  I  am  afraid  your  voice  had  better 
have  stayed  dead;  unless — unless  —  tell  me, 
have  you  the  courage,  do  you  seriously  mean  that 
you  will  sing  to  the  world  again? 

LOUISE.  Yes!  A  thousand  times  yes!  [With 
enthusiasm]  Am  I  not  the  artist  as  well  as  the 
woman?  God  gave  me  my  voice  as  he  gave  me 


ACT  i  THE  FLOWER  SHOP  41 

my  child.  What  is  a  voice  without  an  audi 
ence  —  an  adoring  public?  It  is  the  air  in  which 
it  breathes. 

MARGARET.  You  will  not  let  your  marriage 
stand  in  the  way? 

LOUISE.  [Passionately]  A  hundred  marriages 
will  not  stop  me!  Why  else  did  God  return  my 
treasure?  To  bury  it  again,  hide  it  under  a 
bushel?  Ah  no  —  I  shall  enter  my  kingdom  — 
be  once  more  a  queen  —  there  is  none  greater  in 
the  world  than  the  queen  of  song!  To  her  even 
the  queen  of  state  pays  tribute. 

MARGARET.  Louise,  stop  —  stop !  You  must 
realize  a  little  of  what  is  before  you. 

LOUISE.     Nothing  can  prevent  me. 

MARGARET.  You  have  not  told  your  husband, 
spoken  of  all  this  to  him. 

LOUISE.     No. 

MARGARET  .     Why  ? 

LOUISE.  [Pausing]  I  don't  know  —  I  —  I  — 
j 

MARGARET.  I  will  tell  you.  Your  instinct 
told  you  it  wasn't  safe. 

LOUISE.  Well,  until  I  had  something  definite  — 
I  had  a  vague  feeling  he  might  not  be  interested — 
I  wanted  to  see  you  first. 

MARGARET.  [With  a  low,  short,  wild  little 
laugh]  Interested!  Hum. 


42  THE  FLOWER  SHOP  ACT  i 

LOUISE.  Margaret  —  what  do  you  mean? 
Speak  out. 

MARGARET.  [With  strong  and  significant  em 
phasis]  I  mean  this:  that  when  you  tell  William 
Ramsey  what  you  intend  to  do,  the  fight  of  your 
life  is  begun. 

LOUISE.     What? 

MARGARET.  Yes, —  a  grim  fight  —  a  life  and 
death  struggle  as  an  artist.  I  know  William 
Ramsey.  What  does  he  care  for  your  voice  — 
nothing!  Let  the  wife  try  to  be  the  singer! 
Ha,  you  will  see! 

LOUISE.     Margaret ! 

MARGARET.  William  Ramsey  would  never 
have  married  you  if  you  had  not  lost  your  voice  — 

LOUISE.  Yes,  he  would.  He  loves  me,  Mar 
garet  

MARGARET.  Put  him  to  the  test,  now  is  your 
chance.  Why,  Louise,  I  know  William  Ramsey 
to  the  core.  Kindness  in  all  the  details  of  life, 
but  this  one  thing  of  woman's  right  to  her  own 
talent.  Touch  him  there  and  he  is  harsh,  cruel, 
bitter,  and  when  you  see  this  side  of  his  nature 
you  will  feel  every  art  instinct  within  you  shrivel 
and  dry  up.  You  will  not  even  desire  to  sing. 
Wait  till  you  feel  the  mailed  hand. 

LOUISE.  [Protesting  vigorously]  I  can't  believe 
my  husband  is  as  you  say.  I  will  not  neglect  him. 


ACT  i  THE  FLOWER  SHOP  43 

MARGARET.  It  isn't  that.  It  is  the  idea — in 
the  blood  —  generations  back  —  centuries  old. 

LOUISE.  What  right  has  he  to  keep  me  from 
singing  to  the  world? 

MARGARET.  No  right,  but  he  thinks  he  has. 
You  are  his  wife.  That  is  enough  for  him. 
You  are  dependent  upon  him  for  a  living.  If 
Ten  Eyck  will  take  you,  are  you  ready  to  tell 
William  Ramsey  to-day? 

LOUISE.  I  am  not  afraid.  I  will  dare  every 
thing.  The  very  thought  of  his  presuming  to 
interfere  with  my  life  as  an  artist  makes  me 
furious.  Let  me  once  see  Ten  Eyck. 

MARGARET.  [Eagerly]  Then  I  will  help  you.  I  will 
stand  by  you.  I  could  move  mountains  for  you! 

LOUISE.     You  are  good  to  help  me,  Margaret. 

MARGARET.  [With  intense  feeling}  It  is  not 
you  alone  I  am  helping  —  but  through  you,  a 
thousand  other  women.  Louise  —  you  must  sing 
—  and  sing  as  never  before.  You  must  conquer 
William  Ramsey. 

LOUISE.  Margaret,  what  did  William  do  to 
you  that  you  are  so  fierce,  so  agitated? 

LENA.  [Announces]  Mr.  Ten  Eyck,  Miss 
Margaret. 

Enter  TEN  EYCK. 

MARGARET.  Ah.  [Greets  him]  Look,  friend  — 
do  you  see  who  it  is? 


44  THE  FLOWER  SHOP  ACT  i 

TEN  EYCK.     Louise!     [Grasps  both  her  hands.] 

MARGARET.  My  voice  is  dead,  but  Louise's  — 
Louise's 

LOUISE.     It  has  come  back. 

TEN  EYCK.     No!     Is  it  true? 

MARGARET.  More  glorious  than  ever.  There 
is  your  star,  Ten  Eyck. 

TEN  EYCK.     Louise,  are  you  ready  to  take  up 
the  work?     Can  you  join  the  company  at  once? 

MARGARET.  [Mischievously]  She  has  only  to 
tell  her  husband. 

TEN  EYCK.  [His  enthusiasm  dropping  several 
degrees]  Ah  —  there  is  a  husband!  What  a  pity! 

MARGARET.     And  yet  you  were  advising  me ! 

TEN  EYCK.  When  a  woman  wants  to  do  any 
work,  they  are  a  nuisance. 

LOUISE.  [Proudly]  It  will  make  no  difference 
in  my  case  —  I  can  adjust  my  life  to  suit  myself. 
I  have  a  splendid  nurse  for  my  child. 

TEN  EYCK.     [Temporizing]  The  season  is  short. 

MARGARET.  There  is  no  reason  in  the  world, 
Ten  Eyck, —  once  you  convince  her  husband. 

TEN  EYCK.  That  is  what  I  am  afraid  of.  I 
do  not  like  that  husband  idea,  I  must  say.  Will 
he  stir  up  a  row  —  object  to  anything?  What 
do  you  think,  Louise?  Will  he  permit  you? 

LOUISE.  [Proudly]  Permit?  This  is  enough, 
Ten  Eyck.  You  are  talking  to  the  artist,  Louise 


ACT  i  THE  FLOWER  SHOP  45 

van  Anden.  Private  matters  I  am  quite  com 
petent  to  care  for  in  a  private  way. 

TEN  EYCK.  Good !  This  is  the  old  Louise,  eh, 
Margaret?  Well  then, —  can  you  come  to  the 
theater  now?  A  rehearsal  is  going  on.  We  can 
try  your  voice  at  once. 

LOUISE.  Yes,  this  moment.  Oh,  Margaret, 
isn't  it  like  old  times !  If  only  you  too 

MARGARET.  Never  mind  me.  If  you  triumph 
I  shall  be  happier  than  you  can  ever  guess.  If 
I  were  only  sure  of  you 

TEN  EYCK.  Yes.  Will  you  sign  a  contract, 
Louise? 

LOUISE.  I  will  sign  anything!  —  anything! 
Only  let  me  sing  —  sing  —  sing!  Let  me  get 
to  the  theater.  Oh,  I  can  wait  no  longer.  [Al 
most  at  door,  turns  back  to  MARGARET]  Do  you 
doubt  me,  Margaret? 

MARGARET.  You  have  not  yet  had  your 
interview. 

LOUISE.  What  can  I  do  to  make  you  sure  of 
me? 

MARGARET.  I  am  afraid  when  William  sees 
the  contract 

LOUISE.  He  will  destroy  it?  Never.  I  will 
tell  you  what  I  will  do  —  I  will  send  the  contract 
here  —  for  you  to  keep  for  me. 

MARGARET.     I  shall  not  give  it  up  except  on 


46  THE  FLOWER  SHOP  ACT  i 

your  order;  and  I  shall  hold  you  to  it.     Is  it 
understood? 

LOUISE.  [Laughing  joyously]  Yes.  Hold  me 
to  it.  You  will  have  no  difficulty. 

MARGARET.  This  door  is  nearer  the  Opera 
House. 

LOUISE.  Come,  Ten  Eyck.  I  am  impatient. 
I  will  send  the  contract,  Margaret.  Oh,  isn't 
it  glorious! 

[Exeunt.] 

MARGARET.     [Calling  after  her]  Oh,  Louise? 
LOUISE.     [Without]  Yes? 
MARGARET.     Come  back  and  tell  me  how  your 

voice  sounds  in  the  theater 

LOUISE.     [Without]  Yes,  yes,  I  will 

MARGARET.  And  how  William  takes  the  news. 
MARGARET  laughs  softly  to  herself  as  she 
gathers  a  bunch  of  roses  from  the  table 
and  moves  acrdss  the  room  —  murmurs 
"How  William  takes  the  news!  Ha,  ha!" 
Enter  RAMSEY  with  STEPHEN  HARTWELL, 
a  tall,  dark-eyed,  distinguished-looking 
man  of  a  little  over  forty,  slightly  grayed 
at  the  temples;  with  the  measured  calm  and 
quiet  dignity  of  the  judicial  temperament, 
warmed  by  a  rare  human  sympathy,  at 
once  deep,  tender,  and  reserved,  strong, 
thoughtful,  compelling.  MARGARET  does 


ACT  i  THE  FLOWER  SHOP  47 

not  see  him  at  first  for  he  is  standing 
behind  some  bay  trees. 

RAMSEY.     Is  my  wife  here? 

MARGARET.     [Half  turning]  She  has  just  gone. 

RAMSEY.     Here  is  an  old  friend  you  will  be 
glad  to  see. 

MARGARET  turning  fully  about  sees  STEPHEN 
HARTWELL.  She  looks  at  him  as  if  he 
had  risen  from  the  dead,  her  soul  in  her 
face.  As  she  gazes  at  him  and  he  at  her, 
the  flowers  slowly  slip  from  her  arms  to  the 
floor.  RAMSEY  glances  from  one  to  the 
other,  and  with  a  final  significant  glance 
at  MARGARET  which  she  does  not  see,  he 
goes  out  smiling  to  himself. 

HARTWELL.     [Taking   a  step  toward  her  with 
outstretched  arms]  "Margaret!" 

Curtain 


X 


ACT  II 

Same  Scene:  a  few  moments  later. 

MARGARET  stands  voiceless,  motionless,  un 
resisting  in  HARTWELL'S  arms.  Finally 
her  head  falls  softly  on  his  shoulder. 

MARGARET.     You  have  come. 

HART  WELL.  [Putting  his  hand  upon  her  head 
and  holding  it  back  as  he  looks  down  into  her  face. 
His  voice  is  deep,  gentle,  rich]  Margaret,  Mar 
garet,  you  do  care. 

MARGARET.     Yes. 

HARTWELL.     You  have  cared  all  this  while. 

MARGARET.     Yes. 

HARTWELL.  I  read  it  in  your  face.  You  have 
suffered  as  I  have.  Why  did  you  run  away  and 
hide  yourself  behind  another  name  and  a  strange 
work?  You  saw  how  I  loved  you. 

MARGARET.  [Drinking  in  the  look  of  his  face] 
You  have  come !  You  have  come !  [Puts  her  arms 
about  him]  Oh,  my  dear! 

HARTWELL.  How  could  you  leave  me  alone 
these  three  years  —  so  hopeless,  Margaret? 

MARGARET.  [Brokenly]  I  thought  you  had 
ceased  to  care. 

HARTWELL.     Not  one  word. 

48 


ACT  ii  THE  FLOWER  SHOP  49 

MARGARET.  [Drawing  back]  My  letter?  Did 
you  not  receive  it? 

HART  WELL.     No,  when  did  you  write? 

MARGARET.     The  summer  after  I  left. 

HART  WELL.     When  I  was  abroad. 

MARGARET.  I  have  waited  all  this  time  for 
the  answer. 

HARTWELL.  I  looked  a  year  for  that  letter. 
Then  I  gave  up.  But  I  couldn't  forget.  Day 
and  night  your  eyes  have  been  looking  into  mine, 
and  you,  you  have  thought  of  me 

MARGARET.  Always !  Your  voice,  Stephen  — 
how  I  have  hungered  for  one  single  tone  —  how 
good  it  is  to  hear  it  now  ! —  I  lean  upon  it  and 
gather  strength.  It  is  rest  and  music  for  one's 
soul. 

HARTWELL.  [Caressing  her]  My  love!  I  have 
found  you  again.  Oh,  these  lost  three  years. 
How  shall  we  ever  make  them  up !  But  we  must 
not  look  backward;  we  shall  have  a  happiness  that 
will  more  than  fill  their  measure.  How  I  will 
care  for  you,  Margaret.  No  work  any  more, 
dear.  Luxury  and  ease  await  you, —  ah,  we  shall 
be  happy.  You  will  soon  forget  this  flower  shop. 

MARGARET.  [Moves  from  him,  dazed,  startled 
into  recollection  of  something  completely  forgotten] 
My  flower  shop!  [Gazes  straight  in  front  of  her] 
My  flower  shop.  I  had  forgotten.  Stephen,  I 


50  THE  FLOWER  SHOP  ACT  n 

can't.     [Sinks  into  chair.     Her  voice  is  pleading, 
not  defiant]  Unless  it  were  possible  for  you  to 

understand — oh,  if  you  only  could  understand 

[HARTWELL  bends  over  her.] 
HART  WELL.     Dear,  what  is  it? 

MARGARET  starts  as  if  to  speak,  and  then 

stops,  looking  up  at  him  helplessly. 
HARTWELL.     What  is  it  you  wish  me  to  under 
stand,  Margaret?     Tell  me. 

MARGARET  droops  lovingly  toward  HART- 
WELL  and  shakes  her  head.     Throughout 
the  scene  she  finds  it  extremely  difficult  to 
present  her  case  to  HARTWELL. 
HARTWELL.     You  mean  you  cannot  marry  me? 
MARGARET.     [Quietly]  I  am  afraid  it  is  impossi 
ble. 

HARTWELL.     You  love  me? 
MARGARET.     Oh  yes,  yes.     I  love  you.     [Kiss 
ing  him  passionately]  I  love  you. 

HARTWELL.     Then  I  don't  understand.     Tell 
me. 

MARGARET.     Do  you  know  why  I  ran  away 
from  you? 

HARTWELL.     No.     What  was  it? 
MARGARET.     Because  I  was  poor. 
HARTWELL.     Margaret ! 

MARGARET.     [Gently]    There,    you    see!     You 
cannot   understand    that.     You    are   rich.     You 


ACT  ii  THE  FLOWER  SHOP  51 

don't  know  what  it  means  for  a  woman  to  work 
for  her  living  and  be  always  independent. 

HABTWELL.     You  are  too  proud,  Margaret. 

MARGARET.  Yes,  perhaps  —  but  that  was 
why  I  disappeared.  I  had  lost  my  voice.  I  was 
humiliated.  I  felt  the  shame  that  a  tropical 
bird  must  feel  suddenly  shorn  of  its  color  and 
brilliance,  not  knowing  where  to  hide  its  head. 
I  was  so  tired  —  oh,  so  tired 

HARTWELL.  Then  why,  why  did  you  turn  from 
me,  at  the  very  time  when  love  should  minister? 

MARGARET.  I  longed  to  creep  into  the  shelter 
of  your  arms  and  rest  and  forget.  It  would  have 
been  the  peace  of  heaven. 

HARTWELL.     Why  didn't  you  come,  dear? 

MARGARET.  I  was  afraid  that  I  would.  That 
was  the  temptation. 

HARTWELL.  The  temptation?  You  strange 
child!  I  don't  understand. 

MARGARET.  It  is  this  way.  I  have  always 
despised  a  woman  for  marrying  simply  because 
she  was  tired  of  working  and  supporting  herself. 
So  many  do.  I  did  not  want  to  be  so  weak  —  I 
saw  you  loved  me.  I  knew  you  must  soon  speak. 
I  wished  to  avoid  it.  I  was  afraid  I  would  yield. 

HARTWELL.  But  if  you  loved  me,  why  should 
you  not? 

MARGARET.     I    feared    my    love    might    be 


52  THE  FLOWER  SHOP  ACT  n 

gratitude,  might  be  the  thing  I  despised,  because  I 
was  so  tired.  I  wanted  to  test  it,  to  see  if  my 
feeling  were  really  love;  I  wanted  to  stand  on  my 
own  feet,  to  come  to  you  in  the  glory  of  strength. 
Then  I  thought  I  could  send  for  you  in  all  honor. 
So  when  the  little  farm  violets  grew  to  this  [in 
dicating  the  flower  shop],  I  wrote  the  letter  which 
never  reached  you.  I  thought  I  had  grown  used 
to  denials  and  sorrows  and  knew  how  to  endure, 
but  this  was  different.  Somehow,  I  couldn't  — 
[With  a  little  catch  in  her  voice]  It  has  been  hard, 
Stephen. 

HARTWELL.  No  more  sorrows,  dear.  I  will 
drive  them  away  —  already  your  face  is  changing. 
Your  beautiful  face  —  I  know  every  line  of  it. 

MARGARET.  I  wrote  for  you  to  come,  and  when 
you  didn't  come  I  thought  I  had  been  mistaken 
in  the  signs,  that  you  really  didn't  care  for  me 
as  I  had  thought  —  so  I  gave  up. 

HARTWELL.  But  now  that  you  know,  now 
that  you  have  won  out  so  splendidly  in  your 
struggle  and  can  come  to  me  in  the  glory  of  your 
strength  with  a  personal  triumph  such  as  few 
women  even  care  to  win  —  now  that  I  am  here  — 
what  is  there  in  the  way? 

MARGARET.  There  is  something  else,  which 
unless  you  understand  —  oh,  do  understand.  I 
cannot  give  you  up  now.  I  thought  I  was 


ACT  n  THE  FLOWER  SHOP  53 

strong, —  your  presence  teaches  me  how  in 
complete  I  am  alone,  shows  me  how  greatly  I 
need  you.  I  love  you.  I  cannot  give  you  up. 

HART  WELL.  Nor  shall  I  give  you  up.  Why 
should  I?  What  is  there  in  the  way? 

MARGARET.  [Her  head  upon  his  shoulder,  dis 
armed  by  his  gentleness]  My  work. 

HART  WELL.     Your  work? 

MARGARET.  [Lifting  her  head  and  gathering 
courage]  Yes  —  you  see,  it  has  become  so  much 
more  to  me  than  necessary  self-support.  It  has 
taught  me  wonderful  things  about  life — about  other 
women,  their  needs, — and  what  I  can  do  for  them. 

HARTWELL.     Yes,  dear? 

MARGARET.  I  have  become  —  through  this 
little  flower  shop  and  the  women  who  gather  here 
every  week  —  they  are  coming  this  very  after 
noon —  I  have  become  a  teacher,  a  pioneer,  a  sort 
of  forerunner.  They  look  to  me  to  set  the  ex 
ample,  to  point  the  way 

HARTWELL.     To  what,  dear? 

MARGARET.  To  freedom  —  and  all  that  that 
means  —  opportunity,  growth,  happiness.  Oh, 
for  myself  I  could  snatch  at  the  joy  —  be  your 
slave  —  kneel  at  your  feet  and  be  happy.  But 
there  are  those  who  turn  to  me  —  I  have  a  faith  — 
I  must  be  true  to  it  —  it  is  that  which  is  in  the 
way  —  unless  you  see  it  too.  Oh,  if  you  only  could ! 


54  THE  FLOWER  SHOP  ACT  n 

HART  WELL.     What  is  the  faith,  dear? 

MARGARET.  [Very  gently]  I  must  be  free! 
that  I  may  teach  freedom. 

HARTWELL.  You  should  be  free  —  never  by 
word  or  deed  would  I  encroach  on  your  freedom, 
Margaret. 

MARGARET.  You  do  not  understand.  If  I 
marry  you  in  the  usual  way  I  shall  have  to  give 
up  my  freedom. 

HARTWELL.     No,  dear  —  you  will  not. 

MARGARET.  [Still  very  gently]  What  to  me  is 
freedom.  Tell  me,  could  you  marry  me  and  let 
me  keep  my  flower  shop? 

HARTWELL.  But  why  should  you?  I  am  rich. 
I  have  more  than  enough  for  us  both  —  for  the 
rest  of  our  lives. 

MARGARET.  I  know  that,  dear.  But  do  you 
not  see,  your  possessions  give  you  your  freedom, 
not  mine.  I  must  have  my  own.  It  is  not  a 
whim,  dear,  but  a  deep-rooted  belief  which  is 
sacred  to  me.  I  must  prove  to  the  world  in  my 
own  personal  life  what  I  believe,  that  a  woman 
should  have  her  social  work,  and  the  income  from 
it  —  all  apart  from  the  man  she  loves. 

HARTWELL.  You  should  have  your  own  in 
come,  Margaret.  I  can  arrange  that. 

MARGARET.  [Painfully  going  on]  It  would  still 
be  your  gift,  dear,  don't  you  see?  I  must  earn 


ACT  ii  THE  FLOWER  SHOP  55 

it  myself,  for  the  sake  of  my  own  integrity.  Oh, 
if  we  could  do  this  thing  together,  Stephen,  show 
that  freedom  and  love  can  go  hand  in  hand  • —  it 
would  be  so  splendid ! 

HARTWELL.  Isn't  it  a  strange  idea  of  freedom, 
Margaret  —  for  a  woman? 

MARGARET.  It  is  the  basic  freedom  for  both 
man  and  woman. 

HARTWELL.  [Thoughtfully  considering,  with  an 
effort  to  be  perfectly  fair]  Keep  your  flower  shop  — 
as  my  wife.  Is  that  it? 

MARGARET.     [Tensely  waiting}  Yes. 

POLLY  knocks  and  announces,  "MR.  RAM 
SEY,  Miss  MARGARET."  Something  of 
MARGARET'S  defiance  comes  back  at  the 
mention  of  RAMSEY'S  name.  She  rises 
to  receive  him. 
Enter  RAMSEY.  He  glances  from  one  to 

the  other  in  keen  enjoyment. 
RAMSEY.     By  the  way,  did  my  wife  leave  any 
word  for  me  —  where  she  was  going? 

MARGARET.  No,  she  left  no  word  for  you. 
She  has  something  quite  important  to  tell  you, 
however. 

RAMSEY.     Indeed? 

MARGARET.  Yes.  I  think  I  am  safe  in  saying 
that  the  flower  shop  has  gained  a  convert  —  an 
ardent  convert. 


56  THE  FLOWER  SHOP  ACT  n 

RAMSEY.  [Lightly]  Oh?  Nothing  serious. 
[Glances  at  HARTWELL  and  says  to  MARGARET  as 
he  crosses  to  him]  How  is  my  traditional  woman 
coming  on? 

MARGARET.     [Under  her  breath]  You  are  cruel. 

RAMSEY.  [To  HARTWELL]  Have  you  seen  the 
News  this  morning,  Hartwell?  They  attack 
you  again  —  on  the  same  old  score. 

HARTWELL.  For  being  too  human?  I  sup 
pose  so. 

RAMSEY.  Yes  —  too  lenient  —  but  this  time 
it's  "too  friendly  toward  the  criminal  classes." 
Fortunately  I  have  the  "Press"  under  my  control 
—  so  don't  worry !  I'll  look  out  for  it. 

HARTWELL.  Yes,  I  rely  on  your  management. 
[  Turning  to  MARGARET]  Mr.  Ramsey  usually  puts 
through  what  he  undertakes. 

RAMSEY.  Now,  about  my  wife  —  Miss  Ken 
dall  —  will  you  please  explain 

HARTWELL.  [Crossing  to  MARGARET]  I  think 
I  will  just  step  across  the  street  for  a  few  mo 
ments.  It  is  evidently  something  personal. 

RAMSEY.  Don't  let  me  send  you  off,  Mr. 
Hartwell  —  I  only  want  to  see  Miss  Kendall  a 
moment. 

HARTWELL.  I  shall  be  back  directly.  [To 
MARGARET]  Let  him  have  his  say. 

MARGARET.     Don't  be  long. 


ACT  ii  THE  FLOWER  SHOP  57 

HARTWELL.     No.     [Exit] 

RAMSEY.  [To  MARGARET]  Where  did  you  say 
my  wife  was? 

MARGARET.  [Absent  -  mindedly,  thinking  of 
HARTWELL,  her  face  luminous]  I  didn't  say. 

RAMSEY.  Well  —  to  be  perfectly  explicit  — 
where  did  she  go  when  she  left  here? 

MARGARET.     To  the  theater. 

RAMSEY.  To  the  theater?  Oh,  to  get  seats 
for  to-night,  of  course. 

MARGARET.     Possibly. 

RAMSEY.  Where  is  she  now  then  —  she  isn't 
at  the  hotel.  I  have  been  looking  everywhere. 

MARGARET.  You  didn't  happen  to  glance  in  at 
the  costumer's,  I  suppose? 

RAMSEY.  Costumer's?  No!  What  do  you 
mean?  What  is  she  up  to?  What  idea  have  you 
put  into  her  head? 

MARGARET.  I  wouldn't  get  excited,  William. 
She  will  probably  give  a  full  account  of  herself 
when  she  returns. 

RAMSEY.  I  am  not  excited;  but  I  don't  see 
what  the  mystery  is,  why  I  am  not  to  know  where 
she  is. 

MARGARET.  Can't  your  wife  move  without 
your  knowing  where  she  is?  So  completely  the 
master,  I  suppose. 

RAMSEY.     You  know  more  than  you  are  telling. 


58  THE  FLOWER  SHOP  ACT  n 

I  can  see  that.  There  is  some  secret  between 
you.  But  then,  you  are  perfectly  right.  There 
is  rto  reason  for  my  being  worried. 

MARGARET.     Or  curious. 

RAMSEY.  Or  curious.  Louise  is  quite  able 
to  take  care  of  herself. 

MARGARET.     Quite. 

POLLY  knocks  and  enters  with  a  large  envelope 
MARGARET  goes  to  receive  it. 

POLLY.     It  was  left  by  a  special  messenger. 

MARGARET.  Ah,  from  the  theater.  [Signs] 
Thank  you.  I  was  looking  for  it. 

[Glances  at  contents  with  evident  pleasure.] 

RAMSEY.  [Down  front,  to  himself]  Costumers ! 
What  in  the  world  —  costumers  —  Hm.  [To 
MARGARET]  How  is  my  champion  of  woman?  I 
can  see  she  has  made  progress.  I  told  you  it 
was  all  a  figment  of  your  fancy,  nothing  but 
dream  stuff  —  your  preachments  on  freedom. 
Still  [teasingly]  I  didn't  think  the  conquest  would 
be  so  easy.  [Sincerely]  You  really  do  care  for 
him,  don't  you?  Flower  shops  and  principles 
are  pretty  cold,  tame  affairs  once  the  fire  flames 
in  your  heart.  Isn't  it  so?  Own  up!  [Ad 
miringly]  Jove,  you  are  more  beautiful  than  you 
ever  were  before  —  more  tender,  more  womanly  — 
yes,  Margaret  subdued,  Margaret  mastered  is 
really  very  lovely  —  quite  tempting,  in  fact. 


ACT  ii  THE  FLOWER  SHOP  59 

[Seriously]  You  realize  now  that  love  is  worth  more 
than  any  flower  shop  in  the  world,  don't  you? 
[Lightly]  When  do  you  give  it  up? 

MARGARET.  [Abstractedly]  I  shall  not  give  it 
up. 

RAMSEY.  What!  Does  he  consent  to  your 
keeping  it? 

MARGARET.     He  may. 

RAMSEY.  Not  Hartwell.  He  is  proud.  What 
a  spectacle  he  would  make  —  a  rich  man  with  a 
wife  running  a  little  business  like  this.  Ha  ha! 
Truly,  would  you  put  him  in  such  a  position? 

MARGARET.  [Half  to  herself]  I  never  thought 
of  that! 

RAMSEY.  What  would  his  friends  think  of 
you?  What  would  his  family  say?  Have  you 
ever  seen  his  relatives?  Well,  they  are  an 
aristocratic  lot,  I  can  tell  you,  —  all  of  the  South. 
You  marry  him  and  you  marry  his  sisters, 
cousins,  and  his  aunts,  to  say  nothing  of  an 
uncle  or  two  thrown  in.  Really,  it  is  amusing. 
What  will  you  do  if  he  refuses? 

MARGARET.     [Troubled]  I  don't  know. 

RAMSEY.     Throw  him  over,  as  you  did  me? 
MARGARET  is  silent  and  moves  away  from 
him.     She    looks    at    the    door    through 
which  HARTWELL  passed. 

RAMSEY.     [Watching  her]  So  you  declared  your 


60  THE  FLOWER  SHOP  ACT  n 

independence  to  Hartwell,  the  man  you  love. 
Your  heart  isn't  as  big  as  I  thought. 

MARGARET.     What  do  you  mean? 

RAMSEY.  There  is  only  one  way  for  a  woman 
like  you  to  love  and  that  is  completely,  in  absolute 
surrender.  Here  you  have  actually  made  terms 
for  your  love,  insulted  it  with  an  attempt  at  a 
bargain!  I  didn't  think  it  of  you,  Margaret. 

MARGARET.     [Roused]  Terms!     A  bargain! 

RAMSEY.  Yes,  isn't  it  that?  Isn't  it?  I  will 
marry  you  if  you  will  do  thus  and  so.  I  will  give 
you  my  love  —  if  you  will  accept  my  terms. 
Pshaw !  what  a  way  to  love !  You  are  a  good  deal 
of  a  disappointment,  Margaret. 

MARGARET.     No,  no.     It  is  my  faith. 

RAMSEY.  Talk !  If  you  truly  loved  him  you'd 
realize  that  the  living  flesh  and  blood  man  is  more 
to  you  than  a  lot  of  inanimate  plants  and  silly 
customers.  Why,  you  couldn't  live  a  day 
without  him. 

MARGARET.  You  don't  understand.  It  is  a 
matter  of  principle. 

RAMSEY.  Men  can  fight  for  principles,  not 
women. 

MARGARET.  I  have  sworn  to  be  the  one 
woman  who  can.  It  is  for  freedom. 

RAMSEY.  Freedom!  By  Jove,  you've  got  it! 
Look  at  it!  Do  you  want  to  know  its  other 


ACT  ii  THE  FLOWER  SHOP  61 

name?  I  will  tell  you.  Loneliness,  spelled  in 
great  big  black  letters.  LONELINESS.  [MAR 
GARET  bends  and  weakens  under  his  insistent  words 
as  if  they  were  blows]  Can't  I  see  how  lonely 
you  are?  Old  age  to  face  —  not  so  far  off,  either  — 
alone  and  childless.  What  a  spectacle  —  a  child 
less  woman.  [Speaking  in  a  low,  rapid  voice  as  he 
stands  above  her]  Your  heart  cries  out  for  this 
man  —  it  is  only  a  question  of  time  till  you 
surrender, —  else  you  are  not  the  magnificent 
Margaret  I  think  you  are.  You  will  answer  that 
cry  of  your  heart  in  the  one  supreme  way.  You 
are  in  the  mighty  grip  now.  You  feel  it  tearing  at 
the  roots  of  your  being.  You  can  scarcely  keep 
your  hold  on  your  ideals,  they  are  like  balloons 
cut  away  from  the  earth  —  soon  they  will  be  lost 
to  sight.  Nature  is  too  strong,  Margaret.  The 
instinct  for  motherhood  is  too  strong,  and  Nature 
put  that  instinct  there,  gave  it  absolute  and  un 
dying  power  over  a  woman's  life.  That  is  why 
you  women  never  get  anywhere  in  your  struggle 
for  liberty.  Your  own  hearts  are  your  enemies  — 
not  men.  That  is  why  you  cut  so  ridiculous  a 
figure  with  your  little  flower  shops  and  ballots  — 
you  are  coping  with  mightier  forces  than  social 
systems  —  your  own  great  divine  instinct  of 
motherhood — you  are  grappling  with  God  him 
self  —  you  can't  kill  it.  It  will  triumph  to  the 


62  THE  FLOWER  SHOP  ACT  n 

end.  And  you,  Margaret,  you  are  made  to  be  a 
mother,  a  glorious  mother  —  look  at  you !  There 
is  no  woman  like  you.  You  are  superb,  a  goddess, 
created  for  love.  Yes,  you  cannot  keep  it  out 
of  your  face  —  you  are  quivering  at  the  truth  of 
my  words  —  the  cold  flower-shop  woman  is 
going  —  the  real  woman  shines  in  your  eyes  — 
the  Margaret  you  should  have  been  with  me  years 
ago.  You  a  champion  of  freedom!  Ha,  ha! 
You  are  just  a  plain  elemental  woman  —  infinitely 
more  worth  loving  in  your  weakness  than  in  your 
defiance,  splendid  though  it  was.  Your  true  life, 
your  happiness,  lies  the  way  of  love,  as  it  does  with 
every  other  woman.  Isn't  it  so?  You  pas 
sionate  woman!  Don't  you  know  your  own 
nature? 

MARGARET.     Yes. 

RAMSEY.     You  admit  it,  then? 

MARGARET.  [With  answering  passion  full  of 
personal  pain]  Why  should  I  not?  It  is  true.  I 
do  hunger  for  love  —  no  need  to  have  you  tell 
me  —  every  lonely  woman  knows  for  herself  —  I 
long  to  pour  out  my  love  with  all  the  devotion 
of  which  I  am  capable,  I  yearn  to  be  loved,  I 
could  cry  for  the  little  arms  about  my  neck  —  yes, 
I  feel  all  these  things.  But  no  matter  what  you 
say,  you  can't  make  me  forget  the  other  women, 
their  helplessness  and  their  needs.  Passionate 


ACT  ii  THE  FLOWER  SHOP  63 

woman!  Yes!  But  I  am  capable  of  a  passion 
you  cannot  conceive  —  a  passion  for  a  free  and 
noble  womanhood.  Passionate  woman!  Ah! 
Do  you  think  I  could  cling  to  a  mere  dream  of  the 
future,  be  ready  to  sacrifice  my  personal  joy 
for  an  ideal,  if  it  were  not  so,  if  I  were  not  alive 
in  every  atom  of  my  being?  I  am  not  alone. 
There  is  a  ferment  stirring  the  hearts  of  all 
women  —  I  am  a  part  of  it,  I  can't  help  myself. 
My  flower  shop  is  its  symbol  —  I  hold  to  it  as  a 

liberator  to  his  flag  —  a  priest  to  his  vows 

RAMSEY.  [Strongly,  contemptuously]  Humph! 
A  priest  to  his  vows!  What  are  a  priest's  vows 
when  he  is  alone  with  the  woman  he  loves? 
They  are  nothing  before  the  eternal  rush  and  sweep 
of  the  forces  nature  planted  in  our  hearts.  Al 
ready  your  words  have  lost  the  ring  of  con 
viction.  The  woman  —  what  nature  demands 
of  you  as  a  woman  now  —  not  some  dim  un 
imaginable  future  —  is  already  dominant.  It  is 
she  who  will  be  heard.  She  who  will  triumph. 
[Lowering  his  voice]  You  have  caught  a  glimpse  of 
that  man's  face  —  heard  his  voice.- —  you  will 
die,  but  you  must  hear  it  again  —  you  love  him  — 
you  have  his  kiss  upon  your  lips  —  you  have 
tasted  of  the  wine  of  life  —  the  immortal  intoxi 
cation  —  you  must  drink  to  the  very  dregs. 
There  is  no  stopping  — ~ 


64  THE  FLOWER  SHOP  ACT  u 

MARGARET.  [Aware  that  he  is  reading  her  heart 
and  choking  with  feeling]  Be  still !  Be  still 

RAMSEY.  You  are  mastered  at  last!  Admit 
it!  Admit  it! 

MARGARET.  [In  distress]  Oh,  I  will  not  talk 
to  you  any  more.  Please  to  go ! 

RAMSEY.  You  are  right,  of  course.  I  beg 
your  pardon.  Hartwell  is  waiting,  and  I  must 
find  Louise.  [Starts  for  door  and  stops  short,  look 
ing  sharply  at  her]  I  begin  to  suspect  something. 
If  she  isn't  at  the  hotel  I  am  coming  back  and 
you'll  have  to  tell  me  where  she  is.  Look  here, 
Margaret,  I  won't  have  any  of  this  silly  flower- 
shop  independence  from  Louise.  If  you  have  put 
any  of  your  ideas  into  her  head,  or  put  her  up  to 
anything  —  well,  you'll  have  to  pay  for  it. 

MARGARET.  [Gestures  impatiently  for  him  to  go] 
Yes,  yes. 

RAMSEY.     [Going]  I  won't  have  it,  I  say. 

[Exit  RAMSEY.] 

MARGARET  moves  about  restlessly,  stops  at 
table,  thinks  hard.     Enter  HARTWELL. 

MARGARET.  [Goes  eagerly  to  meet  him,  her  love 
shining  in  her  face  —  murmurs]  I  am  so  glad. 

HARTWELL.  [Tossing  a  newspaper  on  the  table 
and  taking  her  in  his  arms]  There,  I  have  you 
again. 

MARGARET.     Is  it  serious  —  the  paper's  attack? 


ACT  ii  THE  FLOWER  SHOP  65 

HARTWELL.  Rather  bitter,  yes  —  but  Ramsey 
can  handle  it.  [Changing  his  tone]  I  thought  he 
would  never  go.  I  have  been  waiting  for  him  to 
come  out. 

MARGARET.     He  may  come  back. 

HARTWELL.     [Protesting]  No! 

MARGARET.  I  am  afraid  so.  He  said  he  would 
if  his  wife  were  not  at  the  hotel ;  he  is  looking  for 
her.  I  know  she's  not  there.  I  shall  have  to 
tell  him  where  she  is.  She  wants  to  sing  —  you 
see 

HARTWELL.  Let  us  talk  about  you,  dear  — 
you. 

MARGARET.  [Looking  at  watch]  And  it  is 
almost  time  for  my  women  to  come,  and  these 
moments  are  so  precious. 

HARTWELL.  [Brushing  her  hair  back  from  her 
brows  and  framing  her  face  with  his  hands]  Do  you 
know,  dear,  you  grow  more  beautiful  every 
moment  —  tell  me,  sweetheart,  nothing  shall 
stand  in  our  way? 

MARGARET.  [Trembling  —  hesitatingly]  If  you 
could  only  say  —  Keep  your  flower  shop, 

HARTWELL.     You  would  marry  me? 

MARGARET.     Yes. 

HARTWELL.  [Gently]  Really,  Margaret,  I  don't 
see  how  it  is  possible!  Why,  how  could  I  bring 
myself  to  put  you  in  a  doubtful  position  —  a 


66  THE  FLOWER  SHOP  ACT  n 

position  people  would  question  and  criticize  — 
they  might  hurt  you  cruelly 

MARGARET.  [Ardently]  That  is  nothing  —  I 
am  not  afraid  —  but  don't  say  a  doubtful  posi 
tion,  Stephen.  It  is  really  glorious. 

HARTWELL.  [With  great  gentleness]  It  is  very 
brave,  dear,  and  glorious,  too,  when  you  are 
standing  alone,  but  when  you  have  a  husband 
who  loves  you,  adores  you — who  would  serve  you 
devotedly  with  the  whole  of  his  life,  I  confess 
I  should  feel  most  unchivalrous,  Margaret,  to 
let  you  do  it  —  yes  —  even  guilty  —  in  some  sort 
of  way. 

MARGARET.     Oh,  no! 

HARTWELL.  Can  you  not  understand  how  a 
man  might  feel  in  this  matter,  a  man  who  loves 
greatly,  as  I  do  you? 

MARGARET.     How  do  you  mean,  dear? 

HARTWELL.  I  have  the  feeling, —  feudal,  an 
cestral,  it  may  be,  all  men  who  love  reverently 
must  have  it  —  the  desire  to  protect  the  woman  I 
love,  to  save  her  from  pain  and  hardship,  to  spare 
her  the  sordid  things  of  life. 

MARGARET.  Yes,  I  know;  it  is  very  beautiful, 
but 

HARTWELL.  It  is  the  instinct  which  has  lifted 
man  out  of  barbarism  and  endowed  him  with 
whatever  there  is  of  good  in  his  nature  to-day  — 


ACT  ii  THE  FLOWER  SHOP  67 

this  very  instinct  to  work  for  the  woman  he  wor 
ships.  For  the  good  of  society  it  should  be  pre 
served  at  all  costs.  It  is  the  heart  and  goal  of  all 
his  efforts  —  the  one  restraining,  refining  force  in 
his  life.  It  spiritualizes  and  ennobles  him  as 
motherhood  does  a  woman.  To  what  level  would 
men  sink,  deprived  of  this  supreme  privilege? 
Can  you  not  see,  Margaret?  I  speak  out  of  the 
inheritance  of  the  ages.  It  is  the  need,  the  vital 
need  of  a  man's  love. 

MARGARET.  [Moves  a  little  way  —  and  mur 
murs  as  if  to  herself]  Yes,  it  is  true — but  the  women 
—  their  needs  —  what  does  it  do  for  them? 
Idols  —  sex  creatures.  Oh,  I  want  them  to  be 
more  than  that! 

HARTWELL.  [Following]  Margaret,  you  do 
love  me? 

MARGARET.     [Turns]  Look  in  my  face! 

HARTWELL.  Yes,  you  do.  Then  why  am  I 
not  all?  With  that  wonder  look  in  your  eyes, 
why  do  you  hesitate  —  how  can  you  think  of 
your  work?  Oh,  say  yes  at  once,  Margaret! 
Your  eyes  say  it  —  let  the  lips  speak.  Margaret, 
Margaret ! 

MARGARET.  [Turning  away  in  despair]  I 
cannot.  I  was  afraid  it  was  useless  —  you  cannot 
understand. 

HARTWELL.     Can  you  not  choose,  Margaret? 


68  THE  FLOWER  SHOP  ACT  n 

MARGARET.  [Helplessly]  It  is  not  a  question 
of  choice,  don't  you  see? 

HART  WELL.  It  looks  that  way  to  me,  dear; 
as  if  it  were  a  choice  between  your  flower  shop 
and  me. 

MARGARET.  Ah,  I  have  hurt  you.  [In  pain] 
Dear!  Forgive  me.  I  am  so  sorry.  [Caressing 
him]  I  cannot  help  it.  I  am  thinking  of  the  other 
women.  Don't  you  see  how  hard  it  is  for  me? 

HARTWELL.     And  you  would  let  love  go? 

MARGARET.     Would  you? 

HARTWELL.  Not  easily.  I  must  think  it  out. 
I  cannot  grasp  it  yet.  It  is  all  so  new  —  woman 
has  always  been  for  me  a  creature  to  be  set  apart, 
kept  beautiful.  I  see  many  obstacles  in  the 
way.  You  must  remember  I  too  am  proud, 
Margaret,  proud  as  you. 

MARGARET.  Yes.  It  is  that  which  has  kept 
us  apart  so  long.  Pride  with  both  of  us. 

HARTWELL.  Shall  we  let  it  wreck  our  lives 
now?  Shall  we,  Margaret?  Shall  we  let  this 
precious  love  slip  from  out  our  grasp?  Love!  — 
think  what  that  means. 

MARGARET.  No,  no,  but  what  can  I  do?  Oh, 
can't  you  find  a  way? 

HARTWELL.  If  you  were  a  singer,  an  artist, 
it  would  be  comparatively  easy,  but  in  the  com 
mercial  world,  the  prejudices  of  my  family,  the 


ACT  ii  THE  FLOWER  SHOP  69 

criticism  they  may   subject  you   to  —  my  own 
sense  of  chivalry  —  I  must  think  it  out,  dear. 

POLLY  knocks  and  announces  MR.  RAMSEY. 
POLLY.     Mr.  Ramsey  says  he  must  see  you 
for  a  moment. 

MARGARET.     There  he  is! 

POLLY.     And    the    women    are    beginning    to 
come  for  their  meeting,  Miss  Margaret. 

MARGARET.     They  must  wait  —  it  is  not  yet 
time. 

HARTWELL.     I  am  not  going  to  be  driven  off 
this  time.     May  I  go  in  here? 

He  takes  newspaper,  and  kissing  her  hand, 
goes   into   conservatory,   smiling   back   at 
her.     MARGARET   follows    to    the    door, 
which   she   closes.     She   turns  away  with 
the  reflection  of  his  smile  on  her  face,  and 
meets  RAMSEY  as  he  enters. 
RAMSEY.     Well,  she  isn't  at  the  hotel.     Now 
then  —  [looks  around]  Hartwell  gone? 

MARGARET.     [Shakes  her  head]  He's  in  there. 
RAMSEY.     [Looking    keenly    at    her  face]    Hm! 
In  the  grip  —  in  the  grip  of  the  mighty  forces ! 
MARGARET.     [Raising  her  hand]  Don't. 
RAMSEY.     The  traditional  woman  —  eh?     Ha 
ha! 

MARGARET.     Don't!     You  have  tortured  me 
enough.     [At  the  table,  her  eye  falls  on  contract  — 


70  THE  FLOWER  SHOP  ACT  n 

she  takes  it  up]  Now  I  will  torture  you.  If  I  am 
conquered  by  the  old  truth,  so  you  shall  be  by 
the  new.  Louise 

RAMSEY.  Yes,  Louise  —  That's  just  what  I 
want  to  know  —  What  about  her?  Quick!  What 
has  that  paper  to  do  with  it? 

MARGARET.  William,  what  if  Louise  should 
return  to  the  stage? 

RAMSEY.  What!  What  are  you  talking  about? 
She  has  no  voice. 

MARGARET.  Do  you  know  why  she  looked  so 
radiantly  happy  this  morning? 

RAMSEY.  I  did  not  notice  it  specially.  She 
has  looked  that  way  since  the  baby  came. 
She  is  naturally  a  buoyant  disposition.  You 
would  gratify  me  by  coming  to  the  point  at  once. 

MARGARET.  I  will.  You  said  she  had  no 
voice.  You  are  mistaken.  She  has  —  her  voice 
has  come  back. 

RAMSEY.  Nonsense!  I  have  known  nothing 
of  it.  Why  has  she  not  told  me? 

MARGARET.  She  knew  better.  A  vague  in 
stinct  told  her  that  it  would  not  fare  well  at 
your  hands;  you  might  not  approve  of  its  being 
heard  again  in  the  old,  fascinating,  beautiful  way. 

RAMSEY.  She  is  perfectly  right.  I  do  not 
approve  —  most  certainly  I  do  not.  I  shall  lose 
no  time  in  telling  her  so.  She  can  do  nothing 


ACT  ii  THE  FLOWER  SHOP  71 

with  her  voice  now.  She  must  be  mad  if  she 
contemplates  the  possibility  even  for  a  moment. 
She  has  her  duties  to  me,  to  her  child.  She  has 
chosen  the  domestic  life.  She  must  abide  by  it. 

MARGARET.  No  —  she  cannot.  She  has  heard 
the  imperious  call  of  the  footlights  —  that  mad, 
irresistible,  witching  call.  Her  voice  is  thrilling 
in  her  throat.  To-morrow  it  will  soar  from  the 
cords  which  have  bound  it.  And  a  thousand 
men  and  women  will  listen  spellbound  and  cap 
tive  

RAMSEY.  She  will  do  nothing  of  the  sort. 
She  will  not  oppose  my  wishes  in  this  matter. 

MARGARET.     She  will. 

RAMSEY.  She  hasn't  your  spirit,  I  am  glad 
to  say. 

MARGARET.     I  will  pour  my  spirit  into  her. 

RAMSEY.  It  is  my  influence,  not  yours,  that 
counts. 

MARGARET.  Then  I  will  convince  you.  She 
sings  to-morrow  night  at  the  Opera  House.  The 
rehearsal  was  glorious  —  see  —  here  is  her  note  — 
just  a  word  scribbled  in  the  excitement.  She  is 
with  our  old  manager,  Ten  Eyck.  Doubtless  she 
is  at  the  costumers  now,  making  ready. 

RAMSEY.  [Raging]  I  never  heard  of  such  an 
irresponsible  procedure  —  and  without  consulting 
me.  It  is  not  like  Louise  —  in  the  least. 


72  THE  FLOWER  SHOP  ACT  n 

MARGARET.  The  divine  gift  transforms  a 
woman  —  she  will  defend  it  as  if  it  were  her  child. 

RAMSEY.     I  can  soon  put  a  stop  to  it. 

MARGARET.     How? 

RAMSEY.     How!     I  shall  simply  forbid  it. 

MARGARET.  I  thought  you  would  do  that,  so 
I  had  her  send  the  contract  here  to  me. 

RAMSEY.     Contract ! 

MARGARET.  [Holds  it  up]  Yes.  You  business 
men  respect  a  contract,  do  you  not? 

RAMSEY.  [Furious]  Without  my  knowledge! 
or  permission!  How  did  she  dare! 

MARGARET.  Yes,  a  signed  contract,  for  six 
weeks,  beginning  to-morrow  night.  See,  here  is 
her  signature,  Louise  van  Anden  Ramsey. 

RAMSEY.     Give  it  to  me. 

MARGARET.  No,  indeed.  Your  wife  shall 
sing  in  public.  Your  wife,  William.  Think  of  it. 
Do  you  remember  how  you  used  to  tell  me  what 
discomfort  you  would  suffer,  what  humiliation 
you  would  undergo  as  the  husband  of  a  prima 
donna  —  how  the  sound  of  the  clapping  hands 
would  hurt  you,  how  the  press  notices  and  bill 
boards  would  cut  you  to  the  quick  —  it  would 
be  hard  even  to  hold  up  one's  head  in  the  noisy 
publicity  of  it  all  —  Do  you  remember?  I  told 
you  how  foolish  and  selfish  it  was  —  and  now  — 
think  of  it,  William  —  you  are  going  to  experience 


ACT  ii  THE  FLOWER  SHOP  73 

it  all  —  all !  Your  wife  is  going  to  sing.  Do 
you  grasp  the  idea,  William?  She  is  an  opera  star. 

RAMSEY.  [Facing  her]  How  dare  you  do  this 
thing? 

MARGARET.  [Taunting  him]  Wedded  to  an 
opera  queen  —  Think  of  it !  What  will  people 
say?  How  will  it  look?  Now  are  you  con 
quered,  William  Ramsey 

RAMSEY.  She  has  no  right  to  do  this  thing. 
Nor  you  neither. 

MARGARET.     No  right? 

RAMSEY.     She  is  my  wife. 

MARGARET.  Yours,  yours!  Because  you  feed 
her  and  clothe  her  and  house  her!  [Impetuously 
and  passionately]  Wouldn't  it  make  a  difference 
if  she  could  do  these  things  for  herself?  Then 
she  would  have  the  right  to  her  own  life  —  the 
right  to  satisfy  every  one  of  her  instincts  —  all 
the  play  and  art  and  joy  and  service  of  which  she 
is  capable  —  without  asking  her  master's  leave. 
Now  she  is  your  wife  —  the  human  being  whose 
wings  you  have  a  right  to  clip,  whose  genius  you 
can  stifle  —  because  she  hasn't  her  own  freedom  — 
her  own  flower  shop.  Now  do  you  understand? 

RAMSEY.  [Impervious]  Contract  or  no  con 
tract  —  I  say  she  shall  not  sing. 

MARGARET.  But  she  shall!  I  hold  her  to  it. 
Ten  Eyck  holds  her  also. 


74  THE  FLOWER  SHOP  ACT  n 

RAMSEY.  I  command  you  to  give  me  that 
paper.  It  concerns  my  wife,  my  honor.  Why 
in  the  name  of  heaven  do  you  make  it  your  affair? 

MARGARET.  Because  she  is  a  woman  —  a 
woman  who  wants  to  be  free. 

RAMSEY.  [Coldly}  Have  you  any  idea  of  how 
much  damage  a  woman  like  you  can  do,  how  many 
contented  hearthsides  you  can  ruin?  You  sow 
seeds  of  dissension  and  unhappiness.  Men  will 
hate  you  for  it. 

MARGARET.     It  doesn't  matter  —  Louise  sings. 
RAMSEY.     Never.     Give  me  that  paper.    Then 
I  shall  use  force. 

He  tries  to  get  it  —  she  deftly  eludes  him  — 

thrusting  it  in  her  dress. 
MARGARET.     [Throwing  him  off]  No! 

RAMSEY  looks  furious  enough  to  subdue  her 
and  drag  it  forth.  His  anger  as  he  gazes 
at  her  slowly  and  subtly  changes  to  ad 
miration. 

RAMSEY.  [Close  to  her  —  under  his  breath] 
God  —  Margaret  —  I  don't  know  whether  I  hate 
you  or  love  you.  You  are  like  one  of  those 
Teuton  warrior  women  —  forest  and  all.  [Dash 
ing  his  hand  across  his  face]  Memories  come 
crowding  back  —  days  when  we  thought  we  were 
meant  for  one  another.  The  touch  of  you  has 
fired  my  blood [moves  as  if  to  seize  her.] 


ACT  ii  THE  FLOWER  SHOP  75 

MARGARET.  William!  [Locks  contract  in  table 
drawer]  Not  without  Louise's  consent. 

RAMSEY.  [Recovering  himself  —  goes  to  door] 
Very  well.  [Turns  and  comes  back]  You  interfere 
with  my  life.  I  shall  interfere  with  yours. 

MARGARET.     How? 

RAMSEY.  You  intend  to  marry  Hartwell.  I 
shall  delay  —  prevent  the  marriage. 

MARGARET.     You ! 

RAMSEY.  Yes,  I!  I  know  how.  So  go  on 
with  your  poverty-stricken  ideas  of  happiness  — 
a  childless  woman  —  old  age  to  face  —  alone ! 
Margaret  and  her  flower  shop.  Ha  ha! 

[Goes  to  door.] 

MARGARET.  [Following]  What  are  you  going 
to  do? 

RAMSEY.     You  will  see. 

MARGARET.  William,  don't  leave  this  room 
until  you  have  told  me  what  you  are  going  to  do. 

RAMSEY.  Very  well,  I  will.  [Comes  down] 
Stephen  Hartwell  has  political  honors  to  win. 
He  has  bitter  enemies  —  men  who  attack  him 
for  his  sympathy  with  the  poor  and  criminal 
classes.  I  can  stand  for  all  that  and  fight  his 
battles  honestly,  but  I  refuse  to  allow  anything 
further  of  an  extreme  or  eccentric  nature  to  enter 
the  campaign. 

MARGARET.     What  do  you  mean? 


76  THE  FLOWER  SHOP  ACT  n 

RAMSEY.  If  he  marries  you  that  is  what  will 
happen.  You  with  your  flower  shop 

MARGARET.     Well? 

RAMSEY.  That  is  not  the  worst  —  you  have 
ideas  —  radical  ideas  of  woman,  marriage,  free 
dom,  which  you  propound  publicly  —  ideas  which 
are  utterly  distasteful  to  me  and  to  most  men. 
If  Hartwell  marries  you  he  will  have  to  stand 
sponsor  for  these  ideas  —  he  with  his  position 
and  fortune  —  at  the  very  threshold  of  his  life's 
opportunity  —  a  judgeship !  Why,  to  the  serious 
criticism  we  have  had  would  be  added  ridicule  — 
laughter!  There  would  be  no  chance  for  him. 
The  press  would  be  full  of  it. 

MARGARET.  You  said  you  had  the  press  in 
your  hands.  You  could  take  care  of  that. 

RAMSEY.  Ah,  but  that  is  just  what  I  cannot 
and  will  not  do.  What!  Protect  the  woman 
who  breaks  up  my  home  —  sends  my  wife  on  the 
stage?  You  must  have  taken  leave  of  your 
senses,  Margaret. 

MARGARET.  [Gazes  at  him  in  astonishment] 
Tell  me  the  worst  that  could  happen  —  if  he 
should  marry  me. 

RAMSEY.  If  the  woman  question  is  dragged 
in,  and  it  will  be,  Hartwell  may  stand  for  it — 
I  can't.  It  will  be  impossible  for  us  to  work 
together.  I  shall  withdraw  my  support. 


ACT  ii  THE  FLOWER  SHOP  77 

MARGARET.  That  means  another  candidate? 
RAMSEY.  It  does.  It  means  failure  for  him  — 
the  end  of  his  career.  He  won't  have  another 
such  chance  in  a  hurry.  Now  then,  give  up  that 
contract  —  be  silent  with  Louise  —  undo  your 
work  with  her  —  or  I  shall  tell  Hartwell  how  the 
matter  stands.  I  will  give  you  an  hour  to  decide. 
[MARGARET  is  fairly  paralyzed]  I  always  thought 
you  selfish,  Margaret, —  but  I  fancy  you  will 
scarcely  go  so  far  as  to  ruin  the  career  of  the 
man  you  love. 

MARGARET.       William  —  you    couldn't  —  you 

wouldn't  do  this 

RAMSEY.  I  mean  what  I  say.  I  can  handle 
all  criticism  but  this.  I  refuse  to  stand  for  the 
flower  shop.  [Goes  out.] 

The  door  thrown  open  as  RAMSEY  passes 
out  shows  a  group  of  women  gathered  for 
a  meeting.  Their  voices,  laughing  and 
chatting,  rise  and  fall,  gaining  steadily  in 
volume  as  their  number  increases  through 
out  the  following  scene.  POLLY  guards 
the  door.  She  closes  it  quickly  at  a  swift 
sign  from  MARGARET,  who  after  a 
moment  goes  to  the  conservatory  door  and 
opens  it. 
MARGARET.  Stephen! 

[Enter  HARTWELL.] 


78  THE  FLOWER  SHOP  ACT  n 

HARTWELL.  He  has  gone?  [Starting]  Mar 
garet,  what  is  the  matter?  You  are  pale.  What 
has  Ramsey  said?  What  has  he  done?  Tell  me. 

MARGARET.  Oh,  Stephen,  what  shall  we  do? 
I  can't  marry  you  now,  even  if  you  should  let  me 
keep  the  flower  shop 

HARTWELL.     What? 

MARGARET.  I  can't  ruin  your  career  —  no  — 
no  —  I  can't  do  that. 

HARTWELL.  What  do  you  mean?  What  has 
Ramsey  told  you? 

MARGARET.  He  is  so  angry  with  me  about  his 
wife.  If  you  marry  me  he  will  withdraw  his 
support 

HARTWELL.     Nonsense ! 

MARGARET.     He  will  do  as  he  says.     I  see  it  all. 

HARTWELL.     I  don't  care  what  Ramsey  says. 

MARGARET.  But  /  care.  It  may  mean  the 
sacrifice  of  your  life's  work. 

HARTWELL.  And  you  can't  give  up  the  flower 
shop  —  be  just  a  wife.  I  see  that. 

MARGARET.  [Struggling  with  herself,  locking 
and  unlocking  her  hands]  Oh,  Stephen,  how  can  I? 
Not  my  work,  my  ideals,  those  women  out  there 
and  all  I  have  done  for  them  —  oh,  how  can  I ! 
Ask  anything  but  that.  [With  large  impulsive 
ness]  Take  me,  dear  —  my  life,  myself,  my  heart  — 
all  that  I  am  —  even  —  [hesitates.] 


ACT  ii  THE  FLOWER  SHOP  79 

HARTWELL.  [Comprehending,  folding  her  in 
his  arms]  You  brave,  precious  woman! 

MARGARET.  It  is  the  only  way  now  —  love's 
way  —  if  not  the  world's  —  but  let  it  be  so.  I 
am  yours  —  absolutely  —  do  with  me  as  you  will. 

HARTWELL.  [Tenderly]  But  I  love  you  too. 
Much  as  I  might  want  you,  I  shall  never  do  you 
any  harm. 

MARGARET.  You  could  not.  Your  love  is  an 
infinite  blessing.  You  have  placed  a  crown  on 
my  head  that  will  always  be  there  —  do  you  not 
see  it  —  a  mystic,  light-shedding  crown? 

HARTWELL.  [Kissing  her]  It  is  the  light  of  your 
own  loveliness. 

MARGARET.  [Closing  her  eyes]  And  on  my  lips, 
invisible  jewels.  [With  an  apprehensive  change] 
Oh,  I  cannot  lose  you  now  —  now  that  you  have 
come.  No,  no,  I  love  you  —  I  love  you.  [Cling 
ing  to  him]  I  need  you.  You  are  life  itself  —  all 
its  joy  —  and  I  have  been  so  wretchedly  lonely  — 
I  cannot  give  you  up  —  I  cannot.  Take  me. 
Anything,  dear  —  have  it  any  way  you  will. 

HARTWELL.  To  cast  a  shadow  on  your  life 
in  the  eyes  of  society  —  no,  dear  —  never  that. 

MARGARET.  I  am  not  in  society.  I  am  a 
working  woman. 

HARTWELL.  But  I  want  you  in  society  —  my 
society.  I  am  proud  of  you,  Margaret  —  you 


80  THE  FLOWER  SHOP  ACT  n 

are  a  queen  among  women  —  I  want  the  world  to 
know  you  mine.  I  want  you  at  my  side.  I 
should  have  next  to  nothing  of  you  that  other 
way.  Think,  dear.  I  want  a  wife  in  my  house, 
to  go  about  with  me  —  to  receive  my  friends  —  to 
share  my  life  —  all  of  it  —  the  days  and  the 
nights  —  I  want  you,  Margaret 

MARGARET.     [In  despair]  How  is  it  possible? 

HARTWELL.  We  must  find  a  way.  See,  dear, 
I  am  going  now  —  I  shall  do  my  best  to  clear 
away  every  obstacle  —  my  own  prejudices  — 
Ramsey's  objections.  If  I  succeed  I  shall  be 
here  at  eight  o'clock.  If  I  do  not,  I  had  best 
go  on  my  journey, —  I  will  not  come  back  —  not 
to-night. 

MARGARET.     [Clinging  to  him]  No,  no. 

HARTWELL.  Until  I  can  understand  —  until 
every  barrier  in  the  way  of  our  marriage  is  re 
moved.  It  is  better  so.  We  should  only  agonize 
each  other.  Let  me  hear  once  more  you  love  me. 

MARGARET.     I  do,  I  do. 

The  noise  of  the  women's  talk  outside  becomes 
more  insistent. 

HARTWELL.  [With  sudden  ardor]  Oh,  Mar 
garet  —  can't  you  feel  it  —  love  is  the  supreme 
good  of  life  —  there  is  nothing  beside  it  —  and 
we  have  both  been  so  starved.  I  must  have  you. 
You  will  not  let  me  go  away?  If  I  am  not  here 


ACT  ii  THE  FLOWER  SHOP  81 

at  eight  and  can't  find  a  way  for  us,  you  will 
change  your  mind  —  give  up  the  work  —  write 
to  me  —  send  for  me  —  I  must  have  you. 

The  doors  suddenly  fall  slightly  ajar  and  the 
gay,  eager  voices  of  the  women  seem  to 
leap  into  the  room. 

MARGARET.     [Starting]  They  are  coming! 
HARTWELL.     [Still  holding  her,  screened  by  the 
plants  from  the  entrance]  Good-bye  for  a  little  while 
—  [kissing  her]  only  a  little  while.     [At  the  door] 
If  I  do  not  come  I  shall  wait  for  your  word. 

[Goes  out.] 

MARGARET.     [Dazedly]    Eight  o'clock — eight — 
THE  WOMEN.     Now  we  may  come  in!     Oh, 

Margaret 

MARGARET  pulls  herself  together  with  a 
tremendous  effort  and  turns  to  greet  the 
women  as  they  rush  upon  her  and  sur 
round  her,  exclaiming,  "Margaret,  you 
dear," —  "I've  a  piece  of  good  news  " — 
"I've  sold  all  my  work." — "I've  a  ques 
tion  to  ask  you" — "My  husband  says 
what  if" — "My  husband  says  so  too." 
While  MARGARET  stands  in  the  midst, 
tall,  white,  swaying,  a  faint  struggling 
smile  of  welcome  on  her  lips. 

Curtain 


ACT  III 

Same  scene:  evening  of  the  same  day.  The  room 
glows  softly  with  dim  lights.  The  doors  at 
the  back  are  open — an  illumined  street  clock 
may  be  seen  through  the  shop  window.  The 
hands  are  at  7.40. 

Present:     MR.  and  MRS.  RAMSEY,  who  have  evi 
dently  just  come  in,  and  DAVE. 
RAMSEY.     [Looking  at  his  watch]  You  say  she 
will  not  be  back  until  eight  o'clock? 

DAVE.  I  don't  think  so,  sir.  She  may  be 
early.  All  I  know  is  she  told  me  to  wait  until 
eight.  She  expects  some  one  then. 

RAMSEY.     Hm.    Provoking!       Well  — we  will 
wait,  I  think,  if  you  don't  mind. 
DAVE.     [Goes  out]  Yes,  sir. 
LOUISE.     [Timidly]   I  should  so  much  rather 
see  Margaret  alone. 

RAMSEY.  [Tries  the  drawer  of  desk]  Locked,  of 
course  —  and  taken  the  key  with  her.  [Sits 
down  and  pretends  to*read  a  paper. 

LOUISE.  William,  sweetheart!  [Approaches 
him  affectionately  yet  fearfully  —  withdraws,  chilled 
by  the  aspect  of  his  unresponsive,  determined  face  — 
once  more* timidly  tries  to  pet  him]  William,  aren't 
you  going  to  speak  to  me?  You  haven't  spoken 
82 


ACT  in  THE  FLOWER  SHOP  83 

to  me  for  over  an  hour.  [Silence]  I  haven't  done 
anything  wrong  —  [Silence]  I  just  want  to  sing  — 
[Silence]  Don't  you  love  me,  William?  You  have 
always  been  so  good  to  me.  I  love  you. 

RAMSEY.     Love ! 

LOUISE.     But  I  do  love  you 

RAMSEY.     Prove  it  —  then. 

LOUISE.  [In  a  wheedling  voice]  Why,  dearie,  I 
can't  help  it  if  I  want  to  sing,  can  I?  If  you  only 
knew  the  joy  of  it  —  can't  you  imagine  it,  dear? 
You  like  to  smoke  and  play  golf  —  [breaking  off] 
you  can't  stop  a  bird  from  singing 

RAMSEY.  No  one  will  stop  you  in  the  proper 
place  —  the  four  walls  of  your  own  home. 

LOUISE.  But  the  opera  —  the  audience  —  is 
like  sunshine  —  just  what  the  air  and  the  sun  are 
to  the  bird.  Ah,  dearie,  please  let  me?  Say 
yes  —  you  will?  I  know  you  will. 

RAMSEY.  [Bringing  down  an  emphatic  hand] 
Louise,  there  is  no  use  discussing  the  matter  any 
further  —  I  shall  not  allow  it.  [Pause]  I'll 
do  anything  for  you, —  buy  you  anything  you 
want,  only  you  must  get  this  idea  out  of  your 
mind  at  once.  [Walks  up  and  down]  Why,  you 
are  positively  crazy,  Louise!  [Pause.]  [Explo 
sively]  I  do  not  wish  you  to  do  it  —  that  is  enough ; 
or  ought  to  be  enough  for  any  wife  who  loves  her 
husband.  If  you  insist  upon  deliberately  choosing 


84  THE  FLOWER  SHOP  ACT  in 

to  make  me  unhappy  —  I  have  already  told  you 
what  the  end  is  likely  to  be. 

LOUISE.  That  all  is  over  between  us?  No, 
not  that! 

RAMSEY.     It  is  the  logical  result. 

LOUISE.  But  William  —  you'd  be  so  proud 
of  me! 

RAMSEY.  Proud!  Fat,  stupid  tenors  singing 
love  songs  in  your  face,  putting  their  arms  about 
you!  [Strides  across  the  room]  My  wife!  Tights, 
perhaps!  Proud!  Good  God!  It  makes  me 
sick! 

LOUISE.  [Tentatively,  and  looking  contempla 
tively  at  the  toe  of  her  boot,  as  a  child  teasing  for  a 
treat  might  do,  and  unable  to  accept  the  inevitable] 
Well,  I  have  promised  Ten  Eyck  —  and  Margaret. 

RAMSEY.  [Sitting  down]  You  will  have  to 
settle  with  Margaret  —  I  have  already  notified 
Ten  Eyck. 

LOUISE.     [Starting]  Willianf!     You  have 

RAMSEY.     Notified  Ten  Eyck. 

LOUISE.     What? 

RAMSEY.  That  he  might  consider  the  matter 
cancelled. 

LOUISE.  [Angrily]  You  —  you  —  how  dared 
you  do  that !  How  dared  you !  It  is  my  affair  — 
Love  me !  You  don't  love  me  a  bit. 

[On  the  verge  of  tears,  she  starts  for  the  door.] 


ACT  in  THE  FLOWER  SHOP  85 

RAMSEY.  [Rising  quickly  and  taking  her  in  his 
arms]  I  do  love  you  —  you  know  it.  I  love  you 
so  much  I  don't  want  to  give  up  one  bit  of  you 
to  the  world  —  I  want  to  keep  you  mine  —  all 
mine.  Surely  this  means  something  to  you? 
[Holding  her  more  closely  and  kissing  her  warmly] 
You  don't  want  to  give  up  this? 

LOUISE  whips  out  her  handkerchief,  her 
taut  nerves  give  way  at  this  demonstration 
of  affection,  and  bursting  into  tears,  she 
starts  again  for  the  door. 

RAMSEY.     Where  are  you  going? 

LOUISE.  To  my  room  —  I  am  not  going  to 
stay  here  and  let  Margaret  see  me  cry. 

RAMSEY.  [Detaining  her]  You  will  come  back  — 
promise  me  —  and  tear  up  that  contract?  [Point 
ing  to  the  locked  table  drawer.] 

LOUISE.  [Wildly]  Oh  —  I  don't  know  what 
I'll  do 

RAMSEY.  [Releasing  her  hand  and  speaking 
with  tenderness]  If  you  love  me  —  you  will. 

[LouisE  goes  out.] 

RAMSEY.  The  devil!  Shall  I  never  get  this 
thing  settled!  [To  DAVE  in  the  conservatory] 
There  is  no  use  in  my  waiting  here.  Tell  Miss 
Kendall  that  Mr.  Ramsey  will  be  in  later.  Mrs. 
Ramsey  may  return  —  she  may  not  —  I  don't 
know.  You  can  never  tell  what  a  woman  is 


86  THE  FLOWER  SHOP  ACT  in 

going  to  do.     Gad  —  and  that's  a  fact,  young 
fellow! 

[RAMSEY  goes.] 

DAVE.     [Whistles]  Whew!     What's  up! 

[Goes  to  move  some  plants  about,  whistling 

happily  to  himself.] 

Enter  at  side  door  MARGARET  in  an  evening 
wrap. 

MARGARET.  Good  evening,  Dave.  Has  any 
one  been  here? 

DAVE.  The  gentleman  you  were  expecting? 
No  —  m'm  —  it  isn't  eight  o'clock  yet  —  you 
said  eight. 

MARGARET.  I  know  it,  but  I  thought  perhaps 
he  might  be  early  —  [glances  at  the  street  dock] 
In  less  than  half  an  hour ! 

DAVE.  A  lady  and  gentleman  were  here  — 
the  name  was  —  [hesitates.] 

MARGARET.     Ramsey? 

DAVE.  Yes,  that's  it  —  they're  coming  again — 
he  is,  anyway — they  seem  to  be  having  trouble — 

MARGARET.  I  shouldn't  wonder  —  [to  herself] 
Poor  Louise.  [She  moves  about  the  room  expect 
antly,  nervously,  looking  out  at  the  clock',  gathers  up 
an  armful  of  lilies  as  if  to  arrange  them,  drops  them 
on  the  table,  murmurs  to  herself]  If  he  shouldn't 
come — [makes  a  distracted  gesture,  and  then  notices 
DAVE]  You  needn't  wait  any  longer,  Dave. 


ACT  in  THE  FLOWER  SHOP  87 

DAVE.  [Self-consciously]  I  was  to  meet  Polly 
here.  We're  going  to  the  dance  across  the  street. 

MARGARET.  [With  an  attempt  at  cheeriness] 
Oh,  I  thought  you  looked  dressed  up.  Here  is  a 
white  rose  for  your  buttonhole.  [Puts  it  in  for 
him]  You're  a  good  boy,  Dave.  [Returns  to 
flowers]  Will  you  help  me  pack  the  wedding  bell, 
Dave?  I  want  to  get  it  out  of  the  way. 

[Attempts  to  pack  it  in  box.] 

DAVE.  Let  me  do  that.  Your  hands  are  trembling. 

MARGARET.  So  they  are.  I  will  leave  it  to 
you.  I  am  a  little  nervous. 

[MARGARET  goes  into  front  room.] 

DAVE.     [Sympathetically]   I  don't  blame  you. 

[He  looks  at  the  wedding  bell  with  a  smiling 

affection.]  Enter  LENA. 

DAVE.     Hello,  Lena! 

LENA.     Hello !     You  look  as  if  it  were  your  own. 

DAVE.  [Smiling  to  himself]  It  is.  [Starts] 
I  mean  almost.  I  —  we  are  going  to  have  one 
of  our  own. 

LENA.     You  and  Polly? 

DAVE  [nods.] 

LENA.  That's  no  news.  But  you  needn't  feel 
so  smart.  You  are  not  the  only  ones. 

DAVE.     Are  you  going  to  get  married,  Lena? 

[Looks  at  her]. 

LENA.     I  may. 


88  THE  FLOWER  SHOP  ACT  m 

DAVE.     You  don't  say! 

LENA.  I  don't  know  why  that  should  astonish 
you  so  much  —  you  think  no  one  wants  me 
because  I  am  all  worked  out,  you  fancy  Polly  is 
the  only  kind  of  girl  a  man  wants  to  marry  be 
cause  she  is  young  and  pretty.  There  are  others ! 

DAVE.  [Staring  in  wonder  at  her  outburst] 
I  never  said  nothing.  What  are  you  mad  at  me  for  ? 

LENA.  Do  you  suppose  I  don't  know  what  you 
are  thinking?  I  tried  to  do  as  Miss  Margaret's 
doing,  and  now  look  at  me, —  all  my  looks  gone, 
and  I  wasn't  so  bad  looking  once.  I  had  so 
much  color  that  every  one  used  to  turn  and  look 
at  me.  You  won't  believe  it,  but  I  had  redder 
cheeks  than  Polly.  I  was  the  envy  of  all  the  girls. 

DAVE.     You  are  not  bad  looking  now,  Lena. 

LENA.  A  mirror  doesn't  lie,  does  it?  Well, 
I  have  made  up  my  mind  now  what  I  shall  do. 

DAVE.     What  will  Miss  Margaret  say? 

LENA.     I  don't  care  what  she  says. 

DAVE.  So  you  are  really  going  to  try  it,  Lena? 
Re-enter  MARGARET.  Exit  DAVE  to  con 
servatory. 

MARGARET.     Try  what,  Lena?     Good  evening. 

LENA.     {Embarrassed}  I  —  I  may  get  married. 

MARGARET.  Why,  Lena,  I  didn't  know  you 
cared  for  any  one. 

LENA.     I  don't,  specially. 


ACT  in  THE  FLOWER  SHOP  89 

MARGARET.     Then,  why? 

LENA.  [Impatiently]  I  know  what  you  will 
say, —  but  a  woman  like  me  has  got  to  think  of 
herself.  I  am  getting  old.  I  don't  like  to  look 
ahead  and  see  myself  an  old  woman  with  nobody 
to  care  whether  I  live  or  die.  It  is  this  way, 
Miss  Margaret,  if  I  am  ever  to  have  a  home  I 
must  plan  for  it  now.  This  is  a  good  chance. 
I  may  never  have  another, —  and  I, —  I  want  a 
change  —  I  have  had  nothing  for  years  but  work — 
week  in  and  week  out. 

MARGARET.  And  now  you  want  some  man 
to  do  this  for  you? 

LENA.  Why  shouldn't  he?  It  is  a  man's 
place.  Why  shouldn't  it  be  —  if  he  wants  to? 

MARGARET.  [Very  gently  placing  her  hand  on 
LENA'S]  Who  is  the  man,  dear? 

LENA.  [Softening]  He  is  a  good  man.  Edward 
Knox.  He  hasn't  a  single  bad  habit. 

MARGARET.     I  know,  the  carpenter. 

LENA.  He  has  asked  me  several  times,  but  I 
thought  about  you  and  what  you  have  been 
teaching  us,  so  I  always  refused  him.  What 
you  do  is  all  right  for  you,  Miss  Margaret,  you 
are  different  from  the  rest  of  us,  but  I  —  well, 
you  see  [wipes  a  tear  from  her  eye],  it  seems  like 
such  a  good  chance.  He  has  a  steady  job.  He 
says  he  will  be  good  to  me. 


90  THE  FLOWER  SHOP  ACT  in 

MARGARET.  Lena,  Lena  —  and  you  don't 
love  him! 

LENA.  No,  but  it  is  a  perfectly  respectable 
offer,  Miss  Margaret.  I'm  afraid  I  am  one  of  the 
weak  ones  you  talk  about.  I  want  a  home  — 
[drops  her  head  on  the  table  with  a  little  sob]  and  I 
am  so  tired,  Miss  Margaret  —  so  tired. 

MARGARET.  [Very  gently]  Other  people  get 
tired,  too,  Lena.  Even  married  women  get  tired, 
fearfully  tired.  Have  you  thought  what  a  home 
would  be  without  love,  Lena? 

LENA.  I  don't  ask  for  that  —  a  rest,  a  change, 
is  all  I  want.  [Desperately]  If  I  can  only  forget 
the  thump,  thump  of  the  typewriter. 

MARGARET.  Hasn't  it  been  a  rest  to  be  here 
with  me  this  year? 

LENA.  Yes,  but  I  need  more  than  that.  The 
typewriter  is  on  my  brain,  on  my  nerves.  It 
seems  to  me  I'll  do  anything  to  quit  work  and  have 
a  husband  —  some  one  who  will  look  out  for  me. 

MARGARET.  [Gently]  Poor  girl!  But,  Lena, 
let  me  ask  you  one  thing.  If  you  feel  that  way, 
how  can  you  be  so  unkind  to  Mary?  Why  can 
you  not  understand  a  little  of  what  she  has  been 
through? 

LENA.     [Astonished]  Mary! 

MARGARET.  Yes.  Why  is  it  you  feel  yourself 
so  much  better  than  Mary?  She  is  sweet  and 


ACT  in  THE  FLOWER  SHOP  91 

gentle  —  she  has  a  heart  of  gold  and  you  can 
see  from  her  face  that  she  has  suffered  —  yet  you 
have  never  spoken  one  kind  word  to  her  —  usually 
you  ignore  her  in  the  most  pointed  way.  You 
have  hurt  her  cruelly. 

LENA.  If  you  knew  how  I  despise  that  kind 
of  a  girl!  What  else  can  she  expect? 

MARGARET.  You  said  just  now  that  you  were 
tired.  Remember  that  Mary  was  more  than 
tired  —  she  was  hungry  —  think  of  it  —  starving 
when  she  did  —  what  you  are  going  to  do. 

LENA.  Miss  Margaret,  you  surely  do  not 
compare  me  with  a  girl  who  has  been  as  low  as 
Mary ! 

MARGARET.  [Rising  and  speaking  in  tones  of 
gentle  pleading]  Marry  Edward  Knox,  Lena.  Be 
as  happy  as  you  can.  I  do  not  stand  in  your 
way.  All  I  ask  is  a  little  charity  for  Mary.  I 
want  you  to  see  that  you  are  about  to  do  what 
she  did.  You  are  horror  stricken  at  the  idea,  but 
it  is  true,  nevertheless.  You  will  give  yourself 
for  the  necessities  of  life  with  no  love  in  your 
heart, —  only  you  have  the  advantage  of  Mary. 
You  make  a  better  bargain  —  a  bargain  for  life. 
But  she  had  one  advantage  over  you  —  she  was 
free 

LENA.  [Starting  to  go,  and  very  much  hurt] 
Then  I'll  be  like  Mary,  only  I'll  be  respectable! 


92  THE  FLOWER  SHOP  ACT  m 

MARGARET.  [Putting  her  arms  about  her]  Don't 
go  like  that,  Lena.  I  don't  blame  you.  I  under 
stand.  My  heart  aches  for  you,  for  Mary,  for 
all  women. 

LENA.  [Breaking  down]  I  think  the  world  is 
pretty  hard  on  us  women,  whichever  way  we 
turn.  Someway,  it  is  easier  for  a  man  to  face  it 
than  a  woman — [Starts  to  go,  hesitates,  then  comes 
back,  and  speaks  in  a  low  voice]  There  is  another 
reason,  Miss  Margaret  —  I  don't  want  you  to 
think  me  all  bad  —  but  I  want  —  [hesitates  and 
looks  at  MARGARET]  it  isn't  only  a  home  and  a 
husband,  but  I  want  something  to  love.  I  want 
a  little  child  of  my  own  —  all  my  own. 

[A  real  beauty  comes  into  the  girl's  face.] 

MARGARET.  [Kissing  her  —  astonished  — 
touched  —  a  light  of  comprehension  breaking  over 
her  face]  Lena! 

LENA.  [Softening  completely]  You  see,  children 
have  always  run  from  me,  Miss  Margaret.  They 
never  would  come,  no  matter  how  I  coaxed  and 
tried  to  win  them.  It  always  hurt  me.  I  suppose 
it  is  because  I  am  so  thin  and  peaked  looking. 
Children  love  a  girl  like  Polly.  I  thought  if  I 
had  one  of  my  own  —  it  would  have  to  come  to 
me  —  [passionately]  I  would  work  and  slave  for 
it  —  oh,  I  should  make  it  love  me.  A  baby  never 
sees  the  lines  and  wrinkles  in  its  mother's  face. 


ACT  in  THE  FLOWER  SHOP  93 

MARGARET.  [Taking  her  hands]  Thank  you  for 
telling  me  this.  I  will  come  to  your  wedding, 
Lena. 

LENA.  [Joyfully]  Oh,  will  you !  I  did  not  dare 
to  ask. 

MARGARET.  [Deeply  touched]  Yes.  I  will  come, 
now. 

LENA.  [Going,  speaks  earnestly]  Thank  you. 
[Wistfully]  I  wish  I  were  strong,  like  you. 

MARGARET.  [Sighing]  I  am  not  so  strong, 
Lena.  Good-bye.  I  am  so  glad  you  came  in, 
dear. 

[Exit  LENA.] 

MARGARET.  [Walks  slowly  and  in  deep  thought 
to  the  center  of  the  stage,  then  stops  and  says  softly] 
All  of  us  —  in  the  grip  of  the  mighty  forces  of 
nature.  [She  looks  at  the  time  and  moves  about 
restlessly]  Almost  eight  —  [The  hands  of  the  clock 
are  seen  to  creep  slowly  and  steadily  to  eight  and 
past  it]  If  he  shouldn't  come!  if  he  shouldn't 
[She  hears  some  one  and  starts  eagerly,  but  stops 
in  disappointment  as  she  sees  who  it  is]  Oh ! 

Enter  POLLY  at  the  side  door  in  party  dress, 
looking  very  roguish  and  pretty. 

POLLY.     [Gaily]     Hello!     Is  anybody  here? 

MARGARET.  You  mean  Dave?  Yes,  he  is  in 
there.  [Nodding  in  the  direction  of  the  conservatory 
door.] 


94  THE  FLOWER  SHOP  ACT  in 

POLLY.  [Shyly,  coquettishly]  Has  he  told  you  — 
did  he  say  anything? 

MARGARET.     No,  but  I  can  readily  guess. 
Enter  DAVE. 

DAVE.  It  is  all  ready,  Miss  Margaret.  Hello, 
Polly!  How  long  have  you  been  here?  [Softly] 
Did  you  tell  her? 

POLLY.     No,  she  guessed  it. 

[As  if  she  were  disappointed  at  losing  the 
opportunity  of  telling  her.] 

DAVE.     She  did! 

MARGARET.  [Smiling  at  them]  That  wasn't 
hard. 

DAVE.  Well,  will  you  make  the  wedding  bell 
for  Polly  and  me? 

POLLY.  [Nodding  energetically]  One  like  Miss 
Cornelia's  —  as  big  as  hers.  You  really  won't 
dislike  wedding  bells  as  much  as  you  pretend, 
Miss  Margaret  —  not  when  you  see  how  happy  we 
are!  [Squeezes  DAVE'S  arm]  It  is  to  be  a  real  old- 
fashioned  marriage,  Miss  Margaret.  [A  little 
defiantly]  I  am  going  to  give  all  my  time  to  keeping 
house  for  Dave  [DAVE  smiles  in  perfect  content] 
and  not  work  for  my  living  any  more. 

DAVE.  [Bravely]  What's  mine's  hers,  I  say. 
I'd  be  a  low  sort  to  let  a  girl  like  Polly  go  on 
working.  She'll  never  want,  not  while  I've  got 
a  pair  of  hands. 


ACT  in  THE  FLOWER  SHOP  95 

POLLY.  I  won't  mind  asking  Dave  for  money. 
Oh,  we  are  dreadfully  happy,  Miss  Margaret. 
Come  along,  Dave,  or  we'll  be  late  for  the  dance.  I 
hear  them  tuning  up  now.  [Dances  about]  Miss  Mar 
garet,  you'd  better  come  too.  Join  in  the  dance. 

MARGARET.  [Shaking  her  head]  My  feet  are 
grown  heavy. 

POLLY.  You  aren't  working  to-night,  are  you? 
[Impulsively]  We  might  help  you. 

MARGARET.     No,  I  am  expecting  some  one. 

POLLY.  Oh?  Perhaps  you  are  going  to  be 
happy  too.  There,  /  thought  you  were  a  woman 
like  the  rest  of  us.  Some  of  the  girls  said  you 
hadn't  a  heart,  but  I  knew  better.  Oh,  it  is  so 
good  to  be  in  love,  Miss  Margaret  —  [  she 
gives  MARGARET  an  impulsive  hug]  and  to  find  a 
man  like  Dave. 

MARGARET.  [Petting  her  and  pinning  some 
roses  on  her]  You  shall  have  your  wedding  bell! 
We  all  need  joy. 

Some  one  is  heard  at  the  front  door.     MAR 
GARET  starts  again  in  anxious  concern. 

DAVE.  [Smiling  at  her]  It  isn't  your  man.  It's 
only  Mary.  Good  night.  [Enter  Mary.] 

[Exuent  DAVE  and  POLLY  arm  in  arm.] 

MARGARET.  [Watching  them]  Happy,  happy 
children.  What  is  it,  Mary?  Why  aren't  you 
at  the  dance? 


96  THE  FLOWER  SHOP  ACT  in 

MARY.  There  is  no  place  for  me  there.  I  had 
no  one  to  go  with — oh,  I  don't  mind.  I  saw  a 
light  here.  I  thought  maybe  I  could  do  something 
for  you.  I  fancied  you  were  lonely. 

MARGARET.  [After  a  restless  look  at  the  door, 
sits  at  table,  abstractedly  fingering  the  lilies}  Yes, 
I  am  afraid  I  am.  [Looks  at  time]  Eight  o'clock! 
[Looks  around  blankly]  He's  not  coming. 

MARY.  [Impulsively  kneeling  by  her]  Oh,  Miss 
Margaret,  don't  be  so  lonely,  always.  He  is  a 
beautiful  gentleman.  You  must  not  make  a 
mistake  now.  Don't  send  him  away. 

MARGARET  rises  nervously  and  moves  away. 

MARY.  Forgive  me,  but  I  want  to  see  you 
happy.  Life  is  so  hard  alone  —  especially  for  a 
woman. 

MARGARET.  He  was  to  be  here  by  eight  if  — 
if  — [Sits  on  stone  bench]  Oh,  Mary,  I  fear  I  was 
not  noble  or  great.  There  are  words  a  man  said 
that  ring  in  my  ears  —  "Terms  —  a  bargain." 
I  made  terms  —  conditions.  Perhaps  I  might 
have  found  a  better  way. 

MARY.     The  flower  shop  —  was  that  it? 

MARGARET.  [With  hopeless  despair]  He  said 
he  would  not  come  back  unless  he  saw  his  way 
clear.  It  is  after  eight  and  he  hasn't  come.  He 
has  given  up.  I  may  not  see  him  again  —  oh, 
what  shall  I  do? 


ACT  in  THE  FLOWER  SHOP  97 

[She  lays  her  head  on  the  arm  of  the  great 
stone  bench  with  a  little  sob.] 

MARY.  [Standing  behind  the  bench  and  bending 
over  her]  Don't  cry,  Miss  Margaret.  It  can't  be 
too  late.  There  is  no  eastern  train  out  for  an 
hour  at  least.  Can  you  not  send  for  him? 

MARGARET.     [Rising  restlessly]  Yes  —  but 

MARY.  Why  not?  I  will  take  the  word  to 
him.  Let  me.  Why  not? 

MARGARET.  [Pacing  the  room]  My  pride.  How 
can  I  do  what  I  have  been  telling  all  these  women 
not  to  do?  Think  of  all  that  I  have  taught  them, 
all  that  they  look  to  me  for,  and  how  happy  they  are 
—  and  then  for  me  to  fail  them  —  oh,  how  can  I? 

[Sits  down.] 

MARY.  [Kneeling  by  her]  Every  one  of  them 
would  understand.  It  is  sweet  to  surrender. 

MARGARET.  They  have  at  least  had  love  in 
their  lives  —  and  I  —  I  have  had  to  do  with 
out  — [Leaning  back  in  the  stone  bench,  she  closes 
her  eyes, — dance  music  is  heard  —  the  seductive 
strains  of  a  Strauss  waltz]  You  may  be  right. 
All  is  different  in  the  quiet  of  evening,  one  sees 
with  other  eyes.  Look  at  Polly  and  Dave  —  no 
troublesome  ideals  —  no  philosophy  —  only  joy, 
abandon,  romance.  I  confess  it,  [sighs  heavily] 
I  envy  them  to-night.  [The  music  is  heard  more 
clearly,  and  she  half  listens]  I  feel  weak,  Mary. 


98  THE  FLOWER  SHOP  ACT  in 

Something  in  me  is  giving  way.  I  may  send  for 
him.  It  is  these  flowers  —  these  lilies.  Take 
them  away.  [Passionately]  Oh,  take  them  away. 
The  odor  steals  over  my  senses,  bereft s  me  of 
reason,  benumbs  my  judgment.  [MARY  starts 
to  remove  them]  No,  no.  Leave  them.  I  love 
them.  I  love  them.  [Gathers  them  to  her,  buries 
her  face  in  them  and  then  lets  them  fall  to  the  table. 
She  listens,  unconsciously  pulsing  with  the  music  — 
then  rousing  herself]  It  is  that  dance  music !  It  is 
creeping  into  my  blood,  sapping  my  will.  I  shall 
send  for  him.  I  shall,  I  shall  —  oh,  I  am  losing 
my  senses.  I  can't  think  and  I  must  think! 
Shut  the  door,  Mary !  Shut  out  that  music  — 
[MARY  closes  door,  but  music  is  still  heard,  though  it 
is  not  so  penetrating]  Oh,  it  is  no  use.  I  can  hear 
it  still.  It  has  utterly  undone  me.  Is  this 
what  it  is  to  be  merely  a  woman  —  no  will  —  no 
head  —  all  heart  —  nothing  but  heart,  with  a  cry 
in  it  that  will  not  be  stilled.  /  want  him  —  / 
want  him.  Is  this  the  mighty  love  cry  of  the  ages 
that  has  kept  us  in  the  dark  and  made  the  dun 
geon  sweet  so  long?  Ah,  my  sisters,  I  have 
understood  your  needs  —  now  I  know  your 
temptation.  The  one  face.  I  must  see  it 
again  —  the  one  voice  — [Passionately]  Oh,  Mary, 
can't  you  shut  out  that  music? 

MARY.     Miss  Margaret  —  one  woman  can  do 


ACT  in  THE  FLOWER  SHOP  99 

so  little  —  must  we  not  wait  for  all  society  to 
change  —  for  men  to  be  free  themselves?  I  used 
to  hear  them  talking  in  the  mill  —  some  day  the 
struggle  will  not  be  so  fierce,  they  said  —  every 
thing  will  be  better  —  for  women,  too.  Why 
should  you  sacrifice  yourself  now?  It  is  foolish, 
when  you  could  be  happy.  He  looks  so  good 
and  kind 

MARGARET.  [As  the  music  without  rises  in  a 
poignant  crescendo  of  joy  and  abandon]  If  God 
would  still  my  heart  —  I  could  go  on  teaching  — 
but  now,  to  be  alive  like  this  and  give  it  up  —  he 
was  right,  that  man  —  what  was  it  he  said  —  in 
the  grip  —  mighty  forces.  [Puts  her  hands  to  her 
face]  No,  I  cannot  give  him  up!  I  cannot. 
It  is  too  much  to  ask.  I  will  send  for  him.  Quick, 
Mary,  a  pen.  [MARY  brings  writing  material.] 
No  conditions.  That  is  the  way  to  love  — 
[Writes]  "Come  back.  Have  it  your  way.  Only 
come" —  there!  Some  one  is  knocking.  Perhaps 
it  is  he! 

[She  rises  eagerly,  still  holding  the  letter  in 

her  hand.] 

MARY    opens    the    door.     Enter    LOUISE 
RAMSEY.     MARY  discreetly  withdraws. 

LOUISE.     Oh,  Margaret! 

MARGARET.  [Seeing  LOUISE'S  abandon  to  dis 
tress]  What  is  it? 


100  THE  FLOWER  SHOP  ACT  m 

LOUISE.     It  is  all  over.  [Drops  in  a  chair.] 

MARGARET.  [Shocked  and  looking  at  her]  You 
don't  mean — 

LOUISE.  William!  He  won't  allow  it.  I  can't 
sing  to-morrow  —  nor  ever  again. 

MARGARET.     It  is  as  I  said. 

LOUISE.  Yes.  My  voice  had  better  have 
remained  silent.  It  is  torture  to  know  that  I 
have  it  and  cannot  use  it.  Oh,  Margaret,  how 
right  you  were.  It  was  awful  —  the  scene  I  had 
with  him;  and  his  face,  it  was  perfectly  frozen. 

MARGARET.  You  were  warned  of  that.  I 
prepared  you. 

LOUISE.  But  I  never  dreamed  he  could  be  so 
cruel.  The  mailed  hand,  you  said.  I  felt  it  — 
oh,  I  felt  it  —  and  for  the  first  time  since  our 
marriage.  I  am  heartbroken. 

MARGARET.  I  knew  you  had  no  idea  of  the 
ordeal  ahead  of  you.  That  was  why  I  suggested 
my  keeping  the  contract.  You  can't  break  it. 

LOUISE.  We  must  destroy  it.  He  has  notified 
Ten  Eyck. 

MARGARET.  But  you,  Louise?  You  went  out 
of  here  a  radiant  woman,  bent  on  triumph  — 
your  life's  opportunity  in  your  grasp.  Where 
is  your  pride  —  your  spirit? 

LOUISE.     [Bowing  low]  Crushed  —  in  the  dust. 

MARGARET.     And   your    voice  —  is    it    to    be 


ACT  in  THE  FLOWER  SROJ?  ;/ 


stilled  forever  —  by  that  man!  [Vehemently]  You 
can't  give  up  like  this. 

LOUISE.  [Groaning]  My  voice  !  Oh  —  don't 
speak  of  it! 

MARGARET.     You  haven't  much  fight,  Louise. 

LOUISE.  [Cries]  Nor  would  you  have  if  you 
loved  him. 

MARGARET  starts  at  the  truth  of  this,  looks 
at  her  letter  and  turns  away. 

LOUISE.  I  don't  know  why  William  can't 
see  and  understand  and  really  sympathize  with 
me  a  little  —  but  if  he  can't  —  what  am  I  to  do? 
I  am  helpless  —  I  love  him,  Margaret.  You 
can't  fight  the  man  you  love,  even  if  he  is  cruel 
or  if  he  fails  to  see;  you  know  that,  don't  you? 
You  have  no  weapons,  you  are  powerless.  Don't 
you  understand,  Margaret?  Or  have  you  never 
cared  for  any  one? 

MARGARET.  [Breathes  hard  and  looks  at  her 
letter]  What  did  he  say  to  you? 

LOUISE.  [Hurt,  reserved]  I  don't  care  to  repeat 
all  he  said.  I  don't  know  that  it  was  in  the 
words  only  —  although  they  were  short  and  stern 
enough.  He  simply  said  he  forbade  it,  it  reflected 
on  his  honor  - 

MARGARET.     Honor! 

LOUISE.  I  know  there's  no  reason  in  it,  but 
that  wasn't  the  thing  that  influenced  me.  It 


JO*'  1  HE  FLOWER  SHOP  ACT  m 

was  the  coldness, —  the  withdrawal  of  his  love  — 
the  silence  —  why  he  wouldn't  speak  to  me  for 
more  than  an  hour!  Oh,  I  couldn't  face  that 
month  after  month.  Better  the  silence  of  my 
voice  than  that  silence.  I'm  as  limp  as  a  rag 
now.  A  year  of  it  would  kill  me.  I  know  it's 
all  wrong  —  but  what  can  I  do  —  a  woman's 
heart  is  something,  Margaret. 

MARGARET.  [^4*  if  answering  herself]  Yes, 
your  woman's  heart! 

LOUISE.  After  all,  Margaret  —  is  it  worth  it? 
to  persist  in  singing,  and  as  a  consequence  lose 
my  husband's  love?  He  made  it  clear  that  that 
would  be  the  price.  To  forfeit  all  the  tenderness, 
the  sweetness,  the  protection  —  and  he  gives  me 
that  most  generously  —  I  never  fully  appreciated 
it  until  it  was  withdrawn  this  afternoon  —  for 
the  sake  of  glory  and  fame  —  is  it  worth  it, 
Margaret, —  when  you  come  right  down  to  it? 
The  clasp  of  a  strong  man's  arms,  when  he  loves 
you  —  isn't  it  the  most  precious  thing  in  a  woman's 
life,  Margaret  —  better  than  art  and  all  the  plau 
dits  of  the  world?  Tell  me,  Margaret. 

MARGARET.     Don't  ask  me. 

[She  turns  her  back  and  reaches  for  LOUISE'S 
hand.] 

LOUISE.  It  is  sweet  to  belong  to  some  one. 
If  you  loved,  Margaret,  you  would  know. 


ACT  in  THE  FLOWER  SHOP  103 

[MARGARET  tortured,  moves  to  the  window} 

LOUISE.     You  seem  agitated. 

MARGARET.  I  am,  fearfully.  [Up  stage  she  turns 
about]  Well!  [Quietly  and  slowly  tears  up  her 
letter  to  HARTWELL]  We  are  a  weak  lot  —  we 
women  —  when  we  love 

LOUISE.     What  is  that? 

MARGARET.  [Tossing  the  pieces  from  her] 
My  happiness.  There  it  goes 

LOUISE.  [Beginning  to  forget  her  own  grief  at 
sight  of  MARGARET'S]  Why,  Margaret! 

MARGARET.  Your  lack  of  strength  teaches  me 
my  own.  Some  one  must  renounce  the  sweet 
ness.  The  new  truth  must  force  its  way  to  the 
light  —  what  if  a  few  of  us  die  in  the  travail ! 
Come,  I  say  to  my  sisters,  let  us  go  forward  — 
but  one  and  all  they  cry  out  and  fall  to  the  ground, 
their  hands  clutching  their  hearts.  Some  one 
must  stand  up  and  be  strong.  So  I  will  try  to  be 
[her  voice  breaks  and  she  sinks  on  the  bench,  her 
head  on  its  arm]  the  strong  one.  Oh,  there  is  that 
music  again!  Mary,  can't  you  shut  it  out? 

LOUISE.  [Kneels  by  her]  Tell  me  about  it, 
Margaret, —  what  is  your  trouble?  I  cannot 
have  caused  it  all. 

MARGARET.     I  wanted  women  to  be  free. 

LOUISE.  Perhaps  we  don't  want  to  be  free, 
Margaret. 


104  THE  FLOWER  SHOP          ACT  m 

MARGARET.     It  looks  that  way. 

LOUISE.  But  if  men  love  us  as  we  are  —  and 
you  know  we  have  many  faults,  why  not  try  to  be 
grateful  and  contented  and  forget  our  —  our 
voices?  Perhaps  we  are  too  selfish.  Isn't  love 
the  main  thing? 

MARGARET.  [Goes  on,  not  heeding  what  LOUISE 
has  said]  Now,  God  must  still  my  heart.  Then 
I  can  go  on. 

LOUISE.  [A  light  dawning]  Margaret,  what  has 
happened  ?  To  whom  was  that  letter  addressed, — 
the  one  you  tore  up?  Was  it  to  —  Stephen 
Hartwell? 

MARGARET .    [  Wearily]  What  does  it  matter  now  ? 

LOUISE.  It  reminds  me.  I  heard  William 
talking  with  him  this  afternoon. 

MARGARET.  [Suddenly  eager]  Yes?  What  did 
he  say?  Tell  me  —  every  word. 

LOUISE.  I  didn't  hear  it  all.  He  thought  I 
had  gone  —  he  told  me  to  come  to  you  at  once  — 
but  I  was  so  upset  and  my  eyes  were  so  red  I 
didn't  dare  appear  on  the  street.  I  was  in  my 
room. 

MARGARET.  Tell  me  what  he  said  —  at  once. 
I  must  know. 

LOUISE.  I  caught  only  a  few  words  —  a  judge 
with  a  wife  in  business  —  public  laughter  — 
career  ruined  —  eccentric  ideas  —  scandal 


ACT  in  THE  FLOWER  SHOP  105 

MARGARET.     [Smothers  a  cry]  Oh! 

LOUISE.  Tell  me  —  did  he  mean  you,  Mar 
garet? 

MARGARET.     Yes,  yes  —  tell  me  what  else 

LOUISE.  If  it  had  occurred  to  me  that  he  was 
talking  of  you,  Margaret,  I  would  have  listened 
with  all  my  ears,  but  I  knew  William  was  furious 
with  me,  and  I  thought  he  was  just  finishing  up 
on  poor  Stephen  Hartwell.  If  I  hadn't  been  so 
absorbed  in  my  own  troubles ! 

MARGARET.  But  you  must  have  heard  some 
thing  else  —  try  and  remember. 

LOUISE.  "A  man  may  be  selfish  —  but  not  a 
woman" — I  heard  William  say  that;  and  "If 
we  men  give  in  once,  the  bars  will  be  down  — 
there'll  be  no  stopping  the  women.  They  will  be 
like  a  lot  of  hens  let  into  a  garden  —  run  and 
scratch  everywhere  —  spoil  everything.  Now  is 
the  time  to  take  a  firm  stand." 

MARGARET.  But  Stephen  Hartwell  —  what 
did  he  say? 

LOUISE.  His  voice  was  so  low  —  I  heard  only 
one  thing. 

MARGARET.     What  was  that? 

LOUISE.     "She  will  send  for  me" 

MARGARET.  [Grasps  LOUISE  by  the  arm]  You 
are  sure  —  he  said  that? 

LOUISE.    Yes. 


106  THE  FLOWER  SHOP  ACT  m 

MARGARET  groans  and  sinks  back  on  the 

bench. 
LOUISE.     And  William  said  —  "No,  she  won't 

—  such  women  can't  love  —  that's  the  sign  of  it ; 
they  never  surrender  —  they  are  too  selfish." 

MARGARET.     [Murmurs]  Worse  and  worse. 

LOUISE.  You  see  that's  William's  idea,  Mar 
garet.  Tell  me,  what  can  I  do?  You  love 
Stephen  Hartwell? 

MARGARET.  [With  anguished  feeling]  Oh,  yes, 
yes!  Can't  you  see  it? 

LOUISE.  Well!  what  right  had  William  to 
talk  to  Stephen  Hartwell  like  that!  Hasn't  he 
made  me  miserable  enough? 

MARGARET.     He  was  angry  with  me. 

LOUISE.     Why? 

MARGARET.     Because  I  wanted  you  to  sing. 

LOUISE.     I'll  go  to  Hartwell  myself. 

MARGARET.  No,  no.  You  can  do  nothing. 
[She  goes  mechanically  to  the  window.  Her  voice  is 
plaintive,  far  away]  It  is  all  perfectly  hopeless  now 

—  don't  you  see  —  perfectly  hopeless. 

There  is  a  noise  of  some  one  entering.  Both  start. 
MARGARET.     There  —  who  is  that? 

Enter  TEN  EYCK  in  great  concern. 
TEN  EYCK.     [Vehemently]  Ah!     Here  you  are, 
you  bad  girl!    How  dare  you!     How  dare  you 
treat  me  like  this 


ACT  m  THE  FLOWER  SHOP  107 

LOUISE.  Don't  say  a  word!  Don't  make  me 
feel  worse  than  I  do. 

TEN  EYCK.  I  shall  not  let  you  off.  I  shall  not, 
I  tell  you 

LOUISE.     I  can't  do  anything  else. 

TEN  EYCK.  Yes,  yes,  you  can!  Oh,  these 
husbands!  They  will  drive  me  crazy,  crazee! 
Why  did  you  ever  marry?  Don't  you  be  such  a 
fool,  Margaret.  You  will  be  right  under  his 
thumb  —  you  are  perfectly  right,  Margaret. 
Stick  to  your  flower  shop.  Now,  if  Louise  here 
were  only  like  you!  Such  a  voice!  Heavens! 
I  tell  you  I  will  hold  you  to  your  contract! 
Where  is  it,  Margaret? 

MARGARET  takes  it  from  table  drawer,  and 
gives  it  to  him  and  then  quietly  disappears 
through  conservatory  door. 

TEN  EYCK.  There,  husband  or  no  husband, 
you  shall  sing  —  do  you  hear?  I  saw  through  his 
excuses  —  he's  like  a  sulky  boy  for  all  the 
world. 

LOUISE.  You  can't  live  with  sulks!  I  beg 
you  to  drop  the  subject.  I  can  do  nothing,  I  tell 
you.  Can't  you  understand  my  position? 

TEN  EYCK.  I  understand  well  enough.  You 
are  like  all  the  wives  —  as  like  as  peas  in  a  pod  — 
perfectly  satisfied  to  give  up  an  art  that  might 
make  you  famous  and  bring  in  thousands  of 


108  THE  FLOWER  SHOP          ACT  m 

dollars  —  what  for?     To  tickle  his  sense  of  au 
thority,  his  vanity,  his  pride. 

LOUISE.  You  don't  understand.  I  love  my 
husband.  [Angry  at  him]  I  must  do  as  he  wishes. 
I  cannot  forfeit  his  love. 

TEN  EYCK.  You  wouldn't  if  it  was  worth 
anything.  Oh,  they  are  all  alike,  too!  This 
isn't  my  first  experience,  unfortunately.  But, 
great  Scott,  what  am  I  to  do  for  to-morrow? 

MARGARET.  [Enters  hastily]  There,  I  hear  a 
carriage.  [Goes  to  doors  at  the  back  and  opening 
them,  calls]  Some  one  is  at  the  front  door,  Mary. 
Open  it,  quick! 

Enter  RAMSEY. 

RAMSEY.  [Powerfully,  quickly]  Ah,  Louise,  I 
have  come  for  you.  It  is  almost  train  time  — 
[He  and  MARGARET  face  each  other  almost  fiercely 
for  a  moment]  Well?  Good  evening,  Mr.  Ten 
Eyck.  [They  are  all  very  still.  He  looks  about 
him  sharply]  What's  going  on  here? 

TEN  EYCK.     Train  time!     You  don't  mean 

RAMSEY.  I  don't  think  we  need  repeat  my 
message  of  this  afternoon,  Mr.  Ten  Eyck.  My 
decision  was  final. 

TEN  EYCK.  But  your  wife  —  the  contract  — 
she  has  something  to  say 

RAMSEY.  [Amicably]  Has  she?  Now?  I  think 
not  —  we  have  already  agreed  on  the  matter. 


ACT  in  THE  FLOWER  SHOP  109 

TEN  EYCK.  [In  conciliatory  terms,  resorting  to 
flattery]  Don't  decide  too  hastily,  Mr.  Ramsey. 
Of  course  you  know  there  are  others  I  might  get 
to  sing  —  plenty  of  others  —  who  would  jump 
at  the  chance  —  but  your  wife  is  the  star  of  them 
all  —  her  voice  —  really,  sir  —  her  voice  is  singu 
larly  beautiful  —  so  fresh  —  so  pure  —  so  like 
the  lark  —  yes,  I  mean  it,  sir  —  it  is  a  fortune 

RAMSEY.  I  know  —  no  one  appreciates  it 
more  than  I.  She  shall  have  plenty  of  oppor 
tunities  to  be  heard,  but  not  professionally. 

TEN  EYCK.  [ Turning  desperately  to  MARGARET, 
who  is  sitting  listlessly  at  the  back  of  the  room] 
Margaret,  can't  you  help  us?  Use  your  influence 
with  Mr.  Ramsey  —  talk  to  him. 

MARGARET.  It's  no  use,  Ten  Eyck.  I  have 
given  Mr.  Ramsey  up.  Nothing  can  change  him, 
no  possible  argument  —  unless  it  were  the  argu 
ment  of  poverty  —  always  a  telling  argument 
even  with  the  William  Ramseys  of  the  world 

RAMSEY.  Margaret!  Allow  my  wife  to  sup 
port  me?  Don't  be  absurd. 

MARGARET.  [Calmly  continuing  as  if  he  had  not 
spoken]  Or  if  he  were  a  real  democrat 

RAMSEY.     What  do  you  mean? 

MARGARET.  [Contemplatively]  Or  perhaps  a 
terrible  shock  of  some  kind  —  a  life  and  death 
shock  —  that  might  do  it.  No.  [Rising  and 


110  THE  FLOWER  SHOP  ACT  in 

coming  forward]!  think  it  rests  with  Louise.  It  is 
for  her  to  take  her  life  in  her  own  hands  —  if  she 
can. 

RAMSEY.  [Aside  to  MARGARET]  Remember,  I 
hold  the  same  power  over  your  happiness  that 
you  hold  over  mine. 

MARGARET.  [Turning  to  LOUISE]  I  have  urged 
her  to  sing — I  urge  her  again.  [She  is  calm,  im 
personal]  Do  it,  Louise  —  [turns  away]  I  can  say 
no  more. 

RAMSEY.  [Grimly,  following  her  with  his  eyes] 
Thank  you. 

TEN  EYCK.  Won't  you  at  least  leave  her  free 
to  choose,  Mr.  Ramsey? 

RAMSEY.  (Pleasantly  but  coldly,  simulating 
unconcern]  She  is  at  liberty  always  to  do  as  she 
chooses  —  I,  of  course,  will  not  stand  in  her  way. 
Make  your  choice,  Louise.  Let  it  be  final.  Do 
not  consider  me  in  the  least.  Will  you  sing  for  this 
man? 

LOUISE.  [Helpless,  desperate,  glances  at  each 
one,  coming  back  to  RAMSEY'S  face,  whose  expres 
sion  she  knows  so  well.  She  reads  it  with  a  long, 
keen  look  and  then  wilts  on  his  breast]  I  can't,  Ten 
Eyck  —  I  simply  can't. 

RAMSEY.  That  ends  it,  I  think.  [Takes  the 
contract  from  TEN  EYCK  and  tears  it.] 

TEN  EYCK  starts  to  speak,  and  then  with  a 


ACT  in        THE  FLOWER  SHOP  111 

gesture  of  disgust  and  helpless  rage,  goes 
from  the  room. 

RAMSEY.     We  must  go  now,  dear. 
LOUISE.        [Embraces     MARGARET,     tearfully] 

Good-bye,  Margaret 

RAMSEY.  [Going  to  the  door  with  LOUISE,  his 
arm  about  her]  There,  sweetheart,  it  was  a  bit  of 
folly,  but  I  forgive  you.  I  know  it  is  hard,  but 
you  will  be  much  happier  this  way.  Trust  me. 
I  know  best.  You  shall  have  love  in  full  measure. 
[Pauses  at  the  door  and  looks  back  at  MARGARET, 
who  is  gazing  at  him  with  steady,  far-off  eyes  which 
seem  to  look  through  him  and  beyond  him]  Will  you 
step  into  the  carriage,  Louise,  and  wait  for  me?  I 
will  join  you  in  a  moment.  I  must  speak  to 
Margaret. 

[Exit  LOUISE.] 

RAMSEY  comes  forward  and  looks  at  MAR 
GARET.     She   is   very   still,   wrapped   in 
statuesque,  impenetrable  calm. 
RAMSEY.     You  think  I  am  cruel.     [MARGARET 
is  silent]  She  will  be  all  right  when  I  get  her  home — 
away  from  you  and  your  flower  shop  ideas.     They 
are  very  disturbing.     Of  course  she's  upset  now, 
but  she  will  be  quite  happy  again. 

MARGARET  turns  away. 

RAMSEY.  Margaret,  I  don't  like  to  go  away 
without  knowing  how  you  are  coming  out. 


112  THE  FLOWER  SHOP          ACT  m 

MARGARET.     There  is  nothing  —  now. 

RAMSEY.  I  will  make  my  part  of  it  square, 
now  that  Louise  is  settled.  Honestly,  I  will  see 
Hart  well.  Take  back  everything.  I  promise 
you  that  — •  [MARGARET  glances  up  as  if  to  say 
"That  isn't  all,"  but  she  remains  silent]  Margaret, 
haven't  you  sent  for  him? 

MARGARET.     No. 

RAMSEY.     Aren't  you  going  to? 

MARGARET.     [In  a  stifled  voice]  I  can't  now. 

RAMSEY.  [Looks  at  watch]  Jove,  nearly  train 
time.  Hartwell's  train,  too.  [MARGARET  droops] 
He  won't  come  if  you  don't  send  for  him. 

MARGARET.  [Dreamily,  steadily,  wistfully,  look 
ing  straight  out]  If  he  loves  me  —  he  will  come 

RAMSEY.  You  poor  girl!  You  can't  give  in 
any  more  than  I  can.  [Moves  as  if  to  go  and  then 
turns]  I  say,  Margaret,  it  was  a  lucky  thing  you 
and  I  didn't  marry,  wasn't  it, —  although  I  must 
admit  you  hold  me  still,  somehow.  But  you  did 
make  me  everlastingly  furious  to-day ! 

MARGARET.  You  have  made  me  utterly  miser 
able  —  good  night. 

[She  vanishes  through  the  conservatory  door, 
which  closes  behind  her.] 

RAMSEY.     Well !  [  Turns  to  go.] 

Enter  STEPHEN^HARTWELL.     He  speaks  in 

the  same  deep,  calm,  and  measured  tones. 


ACT  in          THE  FLOWER  SHOP  113 

HARTWELL.  Just  a  moment,  Mr.  Ramsey.  I 
am  here,  you  see,  after  all,  although  she  did  not 
send  for  me.  I  have  made  my  decision  —  I  shall 
marry  her  —  in  spite  of  everything. 

RAMSEY.     With  the  flower  shop? 

HARTWELL.  Yes.  I  have  come  to  the  con 
clusion  —  (and  I  have  done  some  thinking  to-day, 
Ramsey  —  laid  a  lifetime  of  prejudices)  —  I  have 
come  to  the  conclusion  that  I  have  no  right  to 
take  it  away  —  it  is  her  work  —  her  life  —  it  is 
vital  to  her  happiness. 

RAMSEY.  Well,  I  am  glad  you  came  in  before 
I  left  —  I  wanted  to  see  you  to-night. 

HARTWELL.  It  is  easy  to  be  romantic,  Ramsey 
—  set  a  woman  on  a  pedestal  as  a  saint  for  devo 
tion  and  all  that, —  it  is  harder  to  help  her  live 
her  own  life,  but  perhaps  after  all  that  is  the  more 
genuine  devotion  —  real  chivalry  in  the  end. 
It  is  what  Margaret  Kendall  asks  —  I  am  going 
to  give  it  to  her  —  if  I  can. 

RAMSEY.     Mr.  Hartwell,  I  wish  to  explain 

HARTWELL.  [Continuing]  So  let  your  news 
papers  say  what  they  like,  your  politicians  do 
what  they  will,  together  Margaret  and  I  can  face 
whatever  you  care  to  do,  whatever  threats  you 
may  carry  out  —  we  shall  have  the  real  thing. 

RAMSEY.  I  take  them  all  back,  Hartwell! — 
all  the  threats  —  everything  —  I  will  stand  by  you 


114  THE  FLOWER  SHOP         ACT  in 

—  things  shall  go  on  exactly  as  we  have  planned. 
I'll  ignore  the  woman  question,  if  it  comes  up, 
I'll  manage  somehow.  I  want  to  see  you  both 
happy  —  truly.  I  was  angry  this  afternoon  — 
I  am  all  right  now 

HART  WELL.  [With  a  sharp  look  at  him]  Then 
your  wife  isn't  going  on  the  stage? 

RAMSEY.     No. 

HARTWELL.     Ah,  that  accounts  for  it 

RAMSEY.  [With  a  confessing  smile]  Well,  yes, — 
but  you  can  afford  to  forgive  me  with  so  much 
happiness  before  you  —  I  cared  for  her  once 
myself,  you  know  —  she  is 

HARTWELL.  I  know  —  you  needn't  tell  me — 
but  why  isn't  she  here? 

RAMSEY.  [Going  into  the  conservatory]  Let 
me  call  her. 

HARTWELL  observes  the  flower  shop  with  a 
new  and  admiring  interest.  He  seems  well 
content.  Enter  LOUISE. 

LOUISE.     Where  is  my  husband? 

HARTWELL.     In  there. 

LOUISE.  Are  you  going  on  the  same  train 
with  us? 

HARTWELL.     [Smiling]  No,  I  think  not. 

LOUISE.  [Rapidly  whispering]  Is  it  going  to  be 
all  right? 

HARTWELL.     Yes  —  I  hope  so. 


ACT  in       THE  FLOWER  SHOP  115 

LOUISE.  [Same  hurried  tones]  I  am  so  glad. 
[seizes  his  hand]  she  is  the  loveliest,  noblest, — 
They  are  coming  —  oh !  [Hastily  gathers  up 
pieces  of  MARGARET'S  torn  letter]  She  wrote  it 
to  you. 

Enter  RAMSEY  and  MARGARET. 

LOUISE.  [Proudly,  airily]  William,  have  you 
forgotten  me? 

RAMSEY.  [Starting  forward]  Oh,  my  dear!  I 
beg  your  pardon.  I  was  just  coming 

LOUISE.  You  stayed  so  long  I  thought  per 
haps  you  were  being  converted. 

RAMSEY.     Mercy  no! 

LOUISE.  [Lightly,  pointedly]  Well,  you  seem 
to  find  it  very  fascinating  here,  nevertheless! 
[Over  her  shoulder]  Good  night,  Mr.  Hartwell. 
Good  night,  Margaret.  I  shall  not  let  him  bother 
you  again.  [They  go  out.] 

HARTWELL.  [Who  has  been  putting  the  pieces  of 
MARGARET'S  torn  letter  together,  looks  up,  holds  out 
his  arms,  into  which  MARGARET  swiftly  glides] 
At  last! 

MARGARET.     You  have  found  a  way? 

HARTWELL.  Yes,  love.  It  is  you  —  you !  I 
was  blind  not  to  see  it  at  once  —  to  keep  you 
waiting  all  this  time  —  you  poor  darling !  [Hold 
ing  forth  the  letter]  If  you  only  knew  how  happy 
that  makes  me! 


116  THE  FLOWER  SHOP         ACT  m 

MARGARET.     Why? 

HARTWELL.  [Holding  her  close]  It  tells  me  you 
are  human  —  a  woman  —  mine. 

MARGARET.  [Happy  mischief  in  her  voice  and 
eyes]  But  it  is  torn ! 

HARTWELL.     Yes. 

MARGARET.  [Softly,  seriously]  Do  you  know 
why? 

HARTWELL.  [Holding  her  away  from  him  and 
looking  at  her  thoughtfully]  I  think  it  must  be  — 
those  other  women,  about  whom  you  care  so  much. 

MARGARET.     Yes. 

HARTWELL.  It  is  in  your  face  —  it  is  the  secret 
of  your  beauty  —  I  see  it  now,  and  I  love  you  for 
it.  [Lifting  her  hand  to  his  lips.] 

MARGARET.  [Leading  him  to  the  stone  bench] 
Stephen,  I  want  to  tell  you  something.  It  came 
to  me  only  a  moment  ago. 

HARTWELL.     Yes,  dear? 

MARGARET.  I  can  give  this  up  [indicating 
the  flower  shop]  and  do  a  less  public  work  — 
quieter,  more  obscure  —  a  work  not  so  osten 
tatious  

HARTWELL.     Can  you? 

MARGARET.  [Still  anxiously]  I  would  not 
embarrass  you  —  jeopardize  your  career  —  not 
for  anything  in  the  world. 

HARTWELL.     You   will   not  —  don't    let   that 


ACT  in         THE  FLOWER  SHOP  117 

worry  you.  [Draws  her  to  him  and  leans  back 
contentedly]  It  is  nice  here,  isn't  it?  The  flowers 
belong  to  you,  Margaret.  You  are  one  of  them. 
[Tenderly,  playfully]  No,  dear,  no,  I  think  we  will 
keep  the  flower  shop. 

MARGARET.     [Slips   on   her   knees   before   him 
with  a  little  cry]  Oh,  Stephen! 

HARTWELL  encircling  her  with  his  arm, 
lifts  her  face  to  his  and  gazes  long  into  it, 
then  bows  his  head  upon  hers. 

Curtain 


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